


A Summer of Compromises

by CoffeeCurse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Dom/sub Undertones, Football, Harry Potter Never Went to Hogwarts, Kidnapping, M/M, Magical Bond, Marriage, Minor Character Death, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pureblood Politics (Harry Potter), Sex Magic, Sexual Content, Sort Of, Soulmates, Stockholm Syndrome, Uninformed Consent, Veritaserum, Wizarding Politics (Harry Potter), Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:41:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 43,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeCurse/pseuds/CoffeeCurse
Summary: Harry discovers the magical world when he meets Tom Riddle during the summer after his sixth year at St. Brutus.Soon he finds himself kidnapped without any knowledge of how to fight against magic. But he wouldn‘t be Harry Potter if he didn‘t try anyway.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Comments: 106
Kudos: 563





	1. A Crazy Day in Summer

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Harry is sixteen, check out the tags
> 
> This isn't Beta'd. So all mistakes are my own. ;)

_  
  
Harry hated coming home._

He turned the key roughly in the front door of Number Four, Privet Drive and then let it slam shut behind him.

He hated the grey cement of the driveway, which looked like _every other_ driveway in this street. He hated the impeccable garden, which aunt Petunia had actually weeded herself.

He hated the Dursleys _._ Because as far as families went, they were all he got.

And now his sixth year at St. Brutus was over, and _summer_ had started. The last of this kind, he hoped. He would turn seventeen soon. And once he’d finished school, he never had to come back here.

Harry dropped his bag. His few belongings barely filled it, even in his chaotic packing style. Most of it was sportswear he had stolen or 'found' in the Lost and Found over the years. He’d even managed to fit a football in, which he smuggled home to practice with.

The exception was his watch, which he bought from the first money he'd won gambling with his dormmates. Harry was great at gambling. He now even had a few quid saved. Hidden in a bag strapped around his torso. Even if the Dursleys followed another crazy diet this summer, he could save himself with a walk to the next Tesco.

Harry had to stay in shape if he wanted to remain on St. Brutus's football team. Being fast was his selling point. He wasn't exceptionally strong or tall. But he could outrun anybody. Two months at home could ruin so much hard work.

Harry pulled on his trainers and left the house. It was mild weather, not quite the usual June heat. He had a few more hours of peace until his aunt and uncle would arrive with Dudley.

Slowly he did a bit of stretching. All the way to the ground with his hands, making sure he felt the pull in his hamstrings and calves. 

When he looked back up, he wasn't alone on the street any longer. At the other end of Privet Drive stood a man.

Usually, random men standing around on the street weren't relevant. But this one wore a fancy three-piece suit. Clothes that seemed like they were from another time and far too posh for this neighbourhood. 

_People here pretended they made it; that man actually had._

Harry narrowed his eyes and slowly began his run.

It felt good to have the wind in his face. The tensing in his muscles. Running was one of the only times when his mind felt truly at ease. The weight of the future wasn't there anymore. 

Where would he live after graduation? _Who cared!_

He couldn't afford Uni? _So what!_

As he got closer, Harry realized that the man was not only filthy rich, but hot as well. All that fabric was tailored to a lean, tall body. Stylishly coiffed dark-brown hair sat atop gorgeous features. How that man had found himself in Little Whinging, Harry couldn't fathom.

The stranger held a weird stick in his hand. Maybe a dressage whip? He'd seen the snobs ride their horses on TV. But it was so short. Looked more like a baton, from a conductor? The man did fiddle with it in a similar fashion.

Or not? There was nothing to conduct here, obviously.

Then, when Harry had almost reached him, he saw something shimmer in front of the baton. It looked like a magnetic field. But it was visible. Had golden, and green threats weaving together at both ends. And they were reaching out for what seemed to be the asphalt of the street. Slowly climbing forward into Harry's direction. Glittery little rivers running up-street like gravity wasn't their business.

Then the man met his eyes, and Harry realized that he had stopped. To shocked by the weird illusions. He didn't see any projectors around, but he turned his neck to search for some anyway.

"Oh, is it you?" the man asked. Harry blinked. _Him, what?_

"Emm," he coughed. "Those are cool electronic lights." He was proud of himself to have come up with a reasonable explanation.

"Oh, but they're not," the man said. "This is a magical field, which is supposed to detect its next-closest outlet. The next wizard or witch in the area. Apart from me, of course." The golden threats on the street continued climbing in Harry's direction, and he stepped back.

"Magical Field? Is that like a fancy commercial name?" he asked. What the hell, about wizards and witches?

"Oh no, it's exactly that. Magic. You've not seen anything like this before?" Harry narrowed his eyes. That seemed to be an oddly calculated question. The man had a bit of an accent which Harry couldn't place. He just wasn't from around here.

The stranger couldn't know that weird stuff happened to him sometimes. Not as strange as in his childhood. But sometimes he made the stone jump into the right cup when gambling. Or people slipped if they wanted to fight him. It was one of the only positives in his life, and Harry didn't question those.

"There is no such thing as magic," Harry said. "Now, if you excuse me. I'd like to continue my run."

He was about to leave when the man stepped into his path. He raised his baton again and waved it. And suddenly Harry couldn't move. He just stood there in the middle of the street with all his limps frozen, his trainers stuck to the asphalt.

"Not so fast." The man paused dramatically. "You see, I'm in this neighbourhood looking for a Harry James Potter." Harry twitched, and a small smile stole itself into the edge of the other man's mouth. "My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. And I'm his fiancé."

Harry blinked.

"Did John put you up to this?" he asked. His mouth still worked, apparently. But everything else was frozen. "I should have believed him when he said he was filthy rich. To have enough money to give an actor such posh clothes." Although, Harry couldn't tell fakes from the real deal. John knew that too.

"John?" the stranger, Riddle, asked baffled. He was a really good actor. Doing this _'Cindarella's prince-thing_ ' very well. Harry's fourteen-year-old self would have been over the moon.

"Well, you can tell him, that I almost fell for it," Harry said. "How'd you get my body to freeze like this. Is it Hypnoses?" 

Riddle blinked. "Oh, but Harry. This is real. I don't know who that John of yours is, and why he's supposedly sending you fiancés. But I am real." He stepped too far into Harry's personal space and put a hand on his cheek. "I've been searching for you for a long time. You are good at hiding from me."

Harry could feel Riddle's breath on his skin and his pulse spiked. _This was hot_ , even if the experience was dampened by the fact that John likely had someone film it. 

Harry knew he'd be teased quite a bit, once his mates at St. Brutus discovered his interest in blokes. But John had. And Harry had come to peace with what that would mean once he returned to school. The boys weren't bad. But they weren't the most tactful or empathetic people in the world.

Riddle turned his head so that their eyes met. It was quiet for a while, and Harry felt something weird in his head. It was uncomfortable. Like there was something, _someone_ , in it, who didn't belong.

"You really don't believe me, do you?" Riddle whispered. "Oh, that old goat made a big mistake to keep you away from Hogwarts." Riddle's eyes were chocolate brown. They seemed warm and comfy, trustworthy, but Harry was sure that was a trick. This man didn't _feel_ nice. He didn't _feel_ safe. 

_God, but he was fascinating_.

"Well, only one way to convince you, is there?" Riddle stepped closer and put his hands around Harry's middle.

CRACK.

Harry felt like his intestines were forced through a tube. Bile rose to the back of his throat. Then it was over, and he exhaled shocked. He had his head buried in Riddle's neck. He smelled clean. Like some fancy shaving cream.

Then he opened his eyes and pulled in some air shakily. Where was he? 

Before him lay a large flower garden and in the background stood a showy old English manor house. It stood atop a hill and Harry could see a village not too far away. None of the houses down there came close to the grandness of this one, however.

"Welcome, to my home," Riddle said, but Harry could do nothing but stare. There was no rational explanation for teleportation! _There just wasn't_. Unless science was farther in Star Wars direction than they told the news.

Suddenly Harry was able to move again, but his body couldn't decide what to do for itself. Instead, it only followed behind Riddle in a trance, as he walked up to the house. An old man of maybe 70 years stood among the flowers of the garden, watering the plants with a hose. He nodded at them. To Harry, he seemed a bit like an old butler. It was like Riddle had brought him into a Jane Austin novel.

"That's Frank," Riddle said in the way of explanation before the doors opened by themselves and let them in.

The inside greeted him with a fancy stairway up to the second floor. There was antique dark brown furniture, and old oil still lives. Everything orderly but not in the synthetic way it was at Privet Drive. This looked expensive and classy.

POP. 

Two little beings appeared. They had floppy ears and overlarge eyes. Harry was embarrassed to hear himself squeak. Then a hand snaked its way into his. Warm and dry, it was. Grounding, with no right to be so.

"What cans Zisby and Luppy be doing for the master?" one of the strange beings asked.

"Prepare supper. I will show Harry to his rooms."

"Yes, Master Tom." They popped away.

Harry was pulled forwards and up the stairs of the house. Riddle led him into a room that felt brighter than the rest of the house. It had white bedding and curtains which floated before open windows. The view showed the little village in the distance. The furniture was made of oak wood, and old antique objects occupied the desk. A quill feather, a typewriter, rolls of parchment.

"Do you like it?" Riddle asked. "These are the less bulky pieces. You might be able to borrow some of my clothes from when I was sixteen. I'll have the elves put them in your wardrobe. They should fit you fine. We can go shopping on another day." That snapped Harry out of his trance. He ripped his hand away from Riddle and spun around.

"Who the hell are you? What is this?" he asked. His voice was a higher pitch than usual.

"As I've told you before. I am Tom Marvolo Riddle, your fiancé." Harry walked a few steps into the room and stared at the neatly folded towels on the bed.

"No, you're not. I don't have a fiancé. This is _1997_. People don't have fiancés anymore." Harry pulled in a breath. "What kind of weird-ass fairytale is this?" He picked up the quill feather and turned it under the light of the sun. It seemed real; not a fake. 

"What are you? A prince who's decided to rescue me from my evil Stepmother? At what ball did I steal your heart?"

Riddle's lips curled. "Let's talk about it over supper." He stepped closer and his hands clutched at Harry’s clothes, pulling him close. A kiss was pressed to his forehead, but before he could react, Riddle had stepped back again.

"Your magic is truly delicious, _dear_." The endearment felt like a mockery. "That book," he pointed to the tome on the nightstand, "explains a bit about Hogwarts and the magical world. I'll give you two hours to get to terms with the shock. I'll send Zisby to collect you later for supper. The shower is through there," he pointed to a door next to the bed. "She will also bring you a change of clothes."

With that, Riddle was gone. 

Harry pinched himself, but nothing happened. He still stood in a beautiful room in the middle of a manor house.

+++

Harry spent most of the next two hours actually reading through the book. 

When the little being, Zisby, plopped into the room, he was surprised how much time had passed. He had to hurry with the shower. Harry wondered why he was following Riddle's demands anyway. 

But still, he grabbed the clothes – it was a white button-up shirt and plain black trousers which were pretty tight on his ass – and pulled them on.

Harry even tried to do something with his hair, but that was rather impossible, so he gave up once the time for supper had come.

"Master Harry, please be following Zisby," the little being said. They made their way down the stairs and along a corridor until they reached a big room with a long table. It had to be the dining room. Riddle was nowhere in sight, however.

"Master Tom is being through that there," Zisby pointed to a door to his right. "If Master Harry is needing anything, he just shouts for Zisby and Zisby will come." With that, the little being was gone.

Harry looked around for a second and then opened the door after knocking briskly. What he found was a smaller room which had a more comforting, cosy style. Although there was a small dining table here, it also sprouted a couch, two armchairs and a fireplace. Two candleholders stood on the table and illuminated the room. The window showed that it was now dusk. 

It seemed like a romantic date, and Harry's stomach did weird flips as he took the seat facing Riddle.

Riddle smiled at him. It seemed like a genuine expression, but Harry wasn't that sure. 

He couldn't help but notice that nobody else was in the house, except for maybe that butler. Riddle looked like he was in his early 20s. Was this truly his house? What about parents or grandparents?

"How are you?" Riddle asked, and Harry jerked. He licked his lips. 

_It was true, Riddle could be a serial killer for all he knew._

"Ermm ... good," Harry said. "I only managed to read a little of the book. And it still didn't answer why you were searching for me in particular. I suppose I can believe that there is magic. You did give me overwhelming proof –" he thought of those moving photographs," – but I'm obviously not magical enough to go to that magic school."

It was a bit discouraging to hear of that. Only the strongest wizards and witches were allowed to attend Hogwarts. It seemed like a place he would have liked.

"That's not the reason you didn't get your letter. You have a block," Riddle reached for Harry's right hand and rubbed his thumb over the skin in circular motions. "A block which prevents Hogwarts from noticing such strong magic on its radar."

A block? Harry furrowed his brow and looked down at the hand holding his like that was completely normal.

Food appeared out of nowhere on his plate, and he was temporarily distracted. _Magic was delightful._

"What block?"

"A magical block. You feel like a squib, to me. Like you can do tiny bits of magic, but nothing beyond brewing a potion or a few basic charms. The block keeps you from causing too many disturbances which would draw notice in the non-magical world. Someone put it there. When I touch you, I can feel your caged magic throb under your skin."

Harry wanted to ask what a squib was but figured it wasn't that important. Riddle made a gesture which meant he could start eating. Harry looked at the many forks and knives. He waited for Riddle to pick the right one, before copying him. He had no idea of this 'rich-people-life', but he would try to not embarrass himself.

"Why would someone do that? Block my magic."

Riddle shrugged like he didn't know. Maybe it was the lighting which made his eyes glint. Maybe there was no reason to question everything he said and did.

"Then why am I your fiancé?" Harry asked. "It doesn't make sense. Even if I'm actually a wizard, or whatever. I surely am not the only one, if there is an entire school full. I'm a nobody, what do you want from me?"

"It has to do with your magic."

"My magic?"

Riddle nodded. "Our magic is compatible. It sometimes happens that two people have very similar magic. So similar in fact, that they can draw from each other's magical cores. It happens seldom, but when it does, it is something like a _match-made-by-magic_. A magical soulmate of sorts. There is no better foundation for a successful marriage than fate, is there? And I tried to find _my_ person."

Harry looked at him. Nothing in his demeanour gave away what his feelings were. Harry found Riddle had three faces. It was either smirks, superior looks or expressionless masks. Whether he really felt possessive of Harry, he gave nothing away. Harry couldn't feel any _'soulmate-ship'_ from Riddle. Could you even feel that?

"How did you know my name then?" he asked. Riddle halted and looked into Harry's eyes. For a second, it was almost like Harry had found a hole in Riddle's story, but then his face evened out.

"Because your mind is open and unguarded. I knew when I was close, that it was you. I plucked your name from your mind – that's all."

Harry startled. _Mind-reading._ Could this get any creepier?

"Relax, Harry. I can only dive into your thoughts when you look into my eyes directly. Otherwise, it is very hard. And it takes a lot of energy, which I much rather would not waste. I only did it that once because I needed to get you attention."

Harry shook his head and turned back to his food. He swallowed some more wine. It most likely wasn't the best idea to get drunk around Riddle, but Harry felt a bit out of his dept.

"So, then, who are you?" Harry asked. "And please tell me more than your name this time."

"Okay well. I lived with my grandmother in Prague up until four years ago. She raised and home-schooled me after my parents died. This is their house, or rather my father's house, but he and my grandmother never got on. So she didn't want to live here. 

"When she passed away, I went to Durmstrang, that's another magical school. I returned to this house when I came of age at seventeen, and I've been doing a lot of travelling ever since. I've been searching for you all around the globe, and then you were far closer than I would have guessed."

"I don't understand this magical soulmate thing? What does it mean?"

"Well to wizardkind good magical compatibility is important in marriage. If your magic doesn't get along, then everything else won't either. Soulmates are perfectly compatible. If one soulmate tries to kill the other, it would even cause a magical dissonance. The soulmate’s own magic would prevent them from hurting the other." He paused and stared into space for a while. "It's a romantic thing, okay?"

Harry cocked his head and returned to his food. That had almost been a cute expression on Riddle's face.

The food was some of the best Harry remembered ever eating, so he enjoyed the next thirty minutes. But finally, it was time to go.

"It would be great if you could take me back to my relative's," he said. "They will already be on edge that I come so late. But it will be better than not showing up at all." 

Riddle slowly turned his head to Harry. The elves had cleaned away the dishes and brought more wine. They now sat in the comfy armchairs by candlelight.

"You don't like them much, don’t you? You don't want to ever see them again after you've finished school. Why go back now?"

Harry felt his face heat under the scrutiny. It might also be the wine. 

His relationship with the Dursleys was hard to explain to someone not living in their house. His mates at school had also questioned it. But Harry had long since accepted the way his life was. As long as he did his jobs and behaved _normally_ , the Dursley's stayed out of his business. Staying out late with a stranger didn't count under normal, so he couldn't do it.

"I can't stay here for the entire summer," he decided to say. “So I need to make peace with them.”

"That's exactly what you can. I was talking about _marriage_. As in, 'until death do us part'." Riddle's eyes appeared ruddy in the candlelight. 

He had been in Harry's head and surely knew what saying that did to his stomach. That, deep down, he just wanted a place to belong. And he was plainly offered a manor, a handsome husband and tons of money. Such things didn’t come for free.

"Please Riddle," Harry begged. He would have to make up a reasonable explanation for his absence for the Dursleys.

"Harry." Riddle got to his feet and walked over until he stood in front of Harry's armchair. Harry almost thought he was going to drop to his knees. But no. Riddle massaged Harry's hands for a while then pulled him to his feet. 

He swallowed.

The wine had made him compliant to those graceful hands, as Riddle placed them on Harry's waist. It burned where they pressed down. The thin fabric of the trousers not shielding from the branding touch. Then Riddle leaned closer.

"I meant it when I said, you could stay forever," he said right next to Harry's ear. "I would love to have you around. _Now and forever_." Harry took a shaky breath.

"Why?" he asked. "You don't even know me."

"Then give me the _opportunity_ to. You were hindered from entering the wizarding world earlier. You need to take the next step yourself." Harry couldn't help himself, he leaned his head against Riddle's shoulder. At this moment, he felt almost taken care of. He didn't want to go home to that cupboard.

This weird fairytale with the creepy prince and the mysterious old manor was oddly appealing. Maybe he'd done some weird drugs on the bus home and didn't remember.

But if this was a hallucination, then it didn't matter what happened tonight.

He was curious where Riddle wanted to take it from here. Especially when he felt those hands cup his ass. _God, it felt good_ , like Riddle was _possessive_ of him. Like Harry was the only one he wanted. Nobody else.

Harry had never gone out of his way to get sexual experience. Clubs just weren't his scene. Neither was excessive alcohol. He'd never been propositioned by someone this attractive before. And sex was what Riddle wanted. His eyes said it all.

And Harry wanted too.

_Take the next step yourself_ , Riddle had said. _Well then. Here came nothing._

Harry looked up and put his arms around Riddle's neck, pulling him down. The first time their lips met almost shyly. Then it was like a switch had been flipped.

Suddenly Harry was pressed into a wall. Riddle kept him trapped with his hot, hard body. Those lips persistent, sucking on his, asking them to open for him.

And then they were gone because they had moved to the skin of his neck. Wet kisses trailed along his shoulder. A leg pressed between his thighs which rubbed against his groin.

Riddle seemed to find that Harry was a bit short since suddenly he was magically lifted a bit and somehow secured to the wall. Only the tips of his feet still managed to meet the ground. The friction of Riddle's leg against his cock increased. Harry exhaled shakily.

Riddle murmured something into his neck, and then his shirt was gone. And those hands trailed over his naked torso. Riddle stepped back a bit and just looked at him. Harry could wriggle, but nothing more. His body was like a coat hanging on a hook, or a painting on a nail. His trousers tightened further. _God._ _Those eyes were undressing him._

"Oh, Harry," Riddle said and opened the sipper over his swollen pants. "You look a bit bothered down here, don't you?" He stepped closer again. His clothed chest barely an inch from his naked skin. Riddle's breath was tickling his neck. "Do you want me to touch you?"

Harry whimpered quietly. He hardened further. Now only his underwear was restricting him. He wished he could just push his pelvis forward to get more friction. To rub and buck and fuck against Riddle. Wherever he got him. But he wasn't in charge.

"Oh, no, dear," Riddle said. "You need to ask for it."

Riddle’s breath also came a bit faster. His hands trembling slightly. Riddle was hard too. His trousers didn't hide that.

"Yes, please," Harry whispered. "Please touch – Please touch my – me." The words came out choked. Then Riddle pressed his hips back in. _God, the friction was so good._ Pleasure hit him as if a dam had broken. 

Riddle buried his head in Harry's neck. Harry panted. Then something closed around Harry cock and squeezed it. Harry tried to look down, but Riddle didn't allow that. He was slowly licking and sucking his way around Harry's neck. Like he wanted to create a collar of hickeys.

Harry whined.

But then Riddle suddenly stopped. He breathed down Harry's neck, slowly inhaling, exhaling. Then he stepped back. Again.

"Please," fell from Harry's lips.

"I think we should change location," Riddle said absently. His hair was not flawless any longer, a few strands sticking off at odd angles.

"A bed," Harry agreed. Though he had liked being stuck to the wall. He flushed. _That wasn't normal, was it?_

"Oh, dear," Riddle said and lifted his chin with a finger, "there is nothing to be ashamed of here. There's just the two of us. I like you helpless; begging me for your release." Harry's face heated further.

He couldn't look at Riddle, he was surely sprouting a grin.

_The mind-reading_. Harry sucked in some more air. It was so unfair. 

"You promised," he said.

"Oh, but you like it, don't you? That I can look into your little head and see all those naughty fantasies you brain has amassed over the years. That I know what a slut for this you are." 

The wall let him go suddenly, and Riddle's arms were there around his hips before he could fall. They were sweaty. Riddle wasn’t as cool as a cucumber either.

"Hold on tight," he said, and then the world turned and compressed again.

They landed in a different bedroom. This one with black bedding and dark green curtains. There were candles lit all around the room and some weird symbols drawn on the floor. Something smoked in the corner, but Harry couldn't identify the smell. 

Before Harry could look further, he felt his body tilt and his back meeting the smooth material of the covers. Something soft looped around his wrist, and suddenly he was turned onto his stomach. 

His wrists were pulled together and secured somewhere in front of him. Harry looked up. Dark green ribbons bound him tightly to the head part of the large bed.

"The candles are a bit presumptuous, aren't they?" he bit out. With his hands tied, he could only decide whether to push his ass into Riddle's face, or lie down on his stomach. Riddle's hands started kneading the muscle of his back.

"What can I do," Riddle said smugly. "You look hot tied to my bed. I could just keep you in here forever." Harry swallowed. Riddle did say creepy stuff sometimes. It was _not_ the time for the serial killer theory to resurface in his head.

" _Evanesco_." The last of his clothing disappeared. And suddenly Harry was completely nude. Riddle's fingers trailed over his buttcheeks and back. The feather-light touch made Harry shudder.

The finger discovered his entrance and pressed against it softly as if to test the waters. Harry bit his lips to not grunt. Then a hand closed around his cock and pumped it twice. Something was murmured behind him, and then magic laid itself around his balls. Tightening, securing him.

"What was that?" Harry asked into the bed.

"A spell," Riddle hummed. Harry still felt fabric on those arms. Oddly that made it only hotter. To lie here, naked on a silver platter, while Riddle stood behind him, still wearing those tight posh button-up clothes. He wished there was a mirror so he could watch him.

"What does it do?"

"Make sure that you don't come too early." Harry thrust into the air.

His dick was poking the bedcovers, but he found no friction. Riddle seemed bored with his dick and was far more fascinated by his entrance. Kneading his cheeks and pulling them apart. Harry squirmed as another two spells passed through him. This time at his most intimate place. He swallowed.

"Cleaning and protection, before you ask," Riddle said, and the bed dipped when he got up. "Relax Harry. There is nothing to fear."

Harry could hear a noise as Riddle searched through his cupboards. His senses were far more on edge because he only saw the headboard. And he didn’t want to change position and trigger Riddle’s ire.

Riddle returned shortly after. His baton – wand – in hand.

He murmured a string of Latin words. Then he started _drawing_ on Harry's back, with the wand. Little patterns which heated up. It stung, but the pain was close to pleasure. Harry was temporarily confused but then relaxed into it. It tickled sometimes.

When he tried to lower his hips to rub against the mattress, Riddle struck his left ass cheek lightly.

"Na Na, Harry," he said. "Patience is a virtue." 

Then another spell lubed up Harry's tight inside. But he had no time to feel uncomfortable about that since shortly after Riddle's hands parted his cheeks again and a finger rubbed circles over his entrance.

It felt teasing. Like he had all the time in the world, although Harry felt Riddle's cock press against his thighs. Obviously very hard.

Then the finger pushed forwards and invaded him farther. Harry was unable to stop it as it teased his inner walls. He couldn't hold back a moan. Riddle just kept going and crooked the finger at a spot which set all his nerves on fire. Harry grunted into his arm.

Riddle chuckled and rubbed there, and Harry couldn't help but push back against the sensation. He tried to chaise the pleasure which erupted in little sparks and cursed through his body.

His cock felt tight. It was painfully hard, but magic kept him strung up.

A second finger was pushed into his ass. Riddle started fucking them into him in earnest now. In and out, sometimes hitting Harry's prostate. With each trust, they went deeper and stretched him farther. Riddle's own breathing became heavier. Harry wanted to see his face so badly. That cool façade must have cracked by now.

After the third finger, something larger positioned itself. Harry felt like he had an itch inside of him, and if that cock didn't enter him fast, he would go mad. 

Then it pressed in, and even though he was prepared, it hurt.

" _God_ ," he breathed as his tight channel tried to widen to allow Riddle inside.

The cock paused. Then the rope tying his hands got longer, and Riddle pulled him back with an arm around his neck.

" _God_ isn't here," he bit out. "Say my name, Harry."

Harry sobbed. That hand tightened.

"Riddle," he breathed.

"No, say, Tom!" Riddle slammed his hips forward, and Harry arched back. A hand drilled itself around his waist and pulled him flush against a hard body. _And god, Riddle was still wearing clothes_. Harry bit his lips but moaned anyway.

"Tom," he choked out. " _Tom_. Fuck me. Please let me come." The pain had somewhat disappeared now, and there was just this odd sensation of having something that large and hard, in his body. Harry clenched around it sometimes, just to feel it was there. Tom hummed. He kept his arm tight around Harry's neck, however.

And Harry loved it. He let his head fall back.

Then Tom started to move. The hand around his middle went lower and closed around his neglected cock and started pumping. Harry couldn't help but clench around the heat inside his ass. He felt sloppy. The sound of grunts and moans mingled with the wet slapping of lubed skin.

Tom hit his prostrate over and over. He slipped out sometimes, but Harry thought that was adorable. No matter what he wanted Harry to believe. Tom didn’t have that much more experience than him. He was just as excited.

"Fuck," Harry said in between grunts. "Tom, please let me come." His balls were drawn up so tight, but that spell was restricting him. He needed to come. 

"Tom." Harry gasped as Tom continued his merciless pace.

"Say, you'll marry me," Tom gasped finally. 

Harry sobbed a burst of laughter.

"Is this _ah_ proposal? It's a bit late _ha_ , isn't it? I expect more romancing, and less fucking me on the first date."

But Tom wasn't having his evasions. 

"Say you'll stay with me forever. That you'll let me keep you." A wet kiss was pressed to the side of his head in between gasps. " _Say it!_ " The arm around his neck tightened further. Choked him.

"Yes, Yes, Tom," Harry panted. And how he wanted. Wanted to belong. Stay here forever. "Keep me." 

His back felt like it was on fire. A thousand sensations seemed to crash over him in waves. His toes curled. At this point, it was only Tom keeping them up on their knees. Harry just sagged back. The candles got brighter around them, and the smoke from the side seemed to curl itself around their bodies.

"Good," Tom sighed. His arms trembled. Then he murmured some Latin and the spell around Harry's balls was gone. Tom just kept fucking into him. Grinding into his sensitive walls. He slipped out shortly, but his hand was there around Harry's dick. Wanking him.

When he slammed back in, Harry fell over the edge. He only heard their breathing amplified in his ears. His orgasm was almost painful in the way it made his entire body tense up, narrow to the sensation. He only noticed that Tom must have come too when he felt the teeth in his shoulder and the wetness in his ass.

So filthy. So sloppy and wet. So right.

Tom pulled out, and they collapsed onto the bed. The light of the candles had gone out. They lay next to each other in the darkness, just catching their breath.

Harry's back still throbbed, but he couldn't be bothered to think about why that was. He felt exhausted. Like there was more than sex that had just happened. He closed his eyes and just lay there. Tom's hand loosely lying over his middle. Then he fell asleep.

+++

Harry awoke because he heard something move.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with semi-darkness. The dark green curtains were drawn shut, and the room was nicely cool. Harry stretched and turned in the wonderfully spacious bed. He felt so exhausted. If this was how sex always was, then he understood how some people only managed once or twice a week.

But it had been excellent.

He looked down at his wrists which showed neither ribbon nor any red marks which might have remained. The room was empty, except for Harry.

He almost drifted back to sleep when something on the ground moved again, and he jolted awake. _Yes, there was something there_. Down on the floor. It looked long and thick.

Very much like a giant snake. But those didn't live in Britain, did they? And if they did, they were in those big terrariums. 

But that was definitely a snake.

_"You smell of fear, little nestmate,"_ the snake said. Harry startled. 

Well, so magic had been an accurate memory then. Talking snakes. Nothing could surprise him anymore.

_"Hello,"_ he said back. " _You don't want to eat me, do you?"_

" _Master would be rather put out if I'd just snack on his nestmate right after mating_ ," the snake said. He had a feeling it was a she. And she seemed to be past the prime of her life. He voice sounded a bit like an old lady. It was hard to explain.

" _So you are Riddle's familiar then?"_

" _My name is Nagini. You seem like a hatchling to me. So unsure of yourself. You are Master's nestmate. Act like it!"_

Okay, so he was being scolded by snakes now. What was his life even? 

Harry's back still ached, and he decided to get out of bed since the snake seemed agreeable. He pulled open the curtains and was greeted with warm sunlight. Down in the gardens, he could see Frank doing his landscaping. And two other men were chatting outside. Neither of them was Riddle.

Were more people living here, after all? 

One of the men shielded his eyes from the sunlight while gazing up. He had long, white-blond hair and wore weird clothes. They looked like a dress, with a cloak thrown over. He held a walking stick with a bird head. Harry stepped back before the man saw him. 

Maybe they belonged to a sect. Or they were eccentric rich people. Or they were strange rich wizards in a cult. So many possibilities.

Harry looked around and found a mirror, on the wall next to the cupboard. Since nobody was around, he didn't feel embarrassed that he was still naked.

When he turned his back to the mirror, however, he blinked. It had hurt but a big-ass tattoo spanning the length of his back wasn't what he had expected. It was black and made up of weird symbols. The skin around it was still a bit red. Harry swallowed and turned back to Nagini, who was watching him from a knot on the floor.

_"Do you know what this is on my back?"_ he asked.

" _The mating rite runes?_ " She seemed to shrug if snakes could do that. " _I don't know much about two-legger things. You are officially Master's mate. That’s all I know."_

_"His husband?"_

_"Right. That's the word Master used."_

Harry looked back into the mirror. His face was utterly blank. His mind a chaos of thoughts and feelings.

He remembered Riddle asking him things when his back had started to hurt. But his mind had been foggy at that point.

Harry felt anger form in his stomach. He hadn't consented to get his back tattooed. He hadn't agreed to a marriage. At least not right now.

_"Do you know where you master is?"_ he asked Nagini. She uncurled and slithered closer.

_"The master is with the other two-leggers down in the big eating room."_ Harry bit his lip. More people. He looked around, searching for clothes and found a stack of them neatly folded on the chair. He supposed that meant that he was allowed to leave the room. He quickly tried the door handle, and yes, the door opened. Harry sighed relieved.

He found the trousers he was given a bit tight, so he opened Riddle's cupboard to look through his other clothes. The closet was so large that he could wholly step into it. While looking through what seemed to be more casual clothes, Harry found a stack of pictures. Next to what seemed to be a jewellery box with many shiny objects. Some of the pictures were black and white, faded; others colourful. And some of them moved.

Curious, Harry pulled them out.

The first showed a family. An older couple and a middle-aged man who looked very much like Riddle. An elegantly written subtitle said that it was from 1942. Maybe his grandfather?

Then there were the moving pictures. One showed a group of boys and girls with an old man. It had been taken in 1943 with a so-called Professor Slughorn. But then Harry looked at the picture more closely, and that was Tom Riddle right there. The old man's arm around himself. He looked younger than now, sure. Maybe fifteen or sixteen. But he was unmistakable. Harry shook his head. Could it be a relative?

Harry looked at the other pictures. There were more from Hogwarts and the 40s, and some from Durmstrang which seemed to show the real Riddle.

The graduation class of 1995, it said. 

Harry put the two pictures next to each other. This was the same person, nobody could tell him differently. But that made no sense. 

He pushed himself to his feet, both photos tight in hand.

He would ask Riddle. Both what the hell was with that tattoo, and what the hell was with his age. Was he immortal? But no, he looked older now than in both these pictures.

Harry no longer cared for the too-tight trousers and left his shirt buttoned up halfway as he marched through the house.

"That is not being a good idea, master Harry," Zisby said in front of the dining room, but he didn't care and pushed the door open. 

He was greeted with abrupt silence. Many pairs of eyes on him. All but Riddle's who sat at the head of the long table, his head supported on his hand.

"Have you finally woken up? It has only been two days," Riddle drawled. Then he addressed the rest of the room.

"Everyone. This is my husband, Harry. Please don't mind him when you see him around the house."

Riddle leaned back like a king on his throne. Seemingly not aware of the people exchanging looks over his head.

"He was formerly known by the last name of … Potter."

At the gasps around the room, he smiled.


	2. Honeymoon Conflicts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom thinks Harry is unreasonable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is no longer a One-Shot ;) The title also changed for that reason.

Tom looked around the room, and at the men, he had invited to this meeting. While he hadn't planned to reveal Harry to them just yet, it would have happened eventually anyway.

They were all bound by secrecy vows, so they couldn't tell anybody. Not that they were brave enough to either way.

There were eight. The few only remaining Death Eaters. Tom kept this gathering small and regulated. His future plans were more in the direction of politics than terrorism. These Death Eaters were the only ones with either intelligence or usefulness.

There was Malfoy, who was influential because of his wealth, and his connections among dark families. Snape, who had access to Dumbledore and who was a genius Potions Master. Pettigrew, whose Animagus form had its advantages. Tom just found him pathetic.

But, they all were in their own way.

Nott was seasoned and even-tempered, which made him agreeable. He also had a large social circle which expanded to light families, in comparison to Malfoy's.

Some Death Eaters couldn't be here because they had other duties today. Or they weren't invited like Crabbe or Goyle whose stupidity he couldn't stand. At least not in the same room. 

Some were dead because they had become a liability. Like the Older Carrows.

Their death had done its job. Both Avery Jr and Macnair had become much quieter in their bloodlust. Tom was still unsure whether he would keep those two. They were inconveniently rash and violent. Only the future would tell.

The other two attendees were Selwyn and Runcorn. They'd never been marked and were younger than the others.

When Harry had burst into the room, they had first been perplexed. Then bewildered. He supposed nobody had expected him to get married. And then to Harry Potter. Tom was feeling elated at the absolute disbelief written all over their faces.

Tom watched Harry out of lidded eyes. He must have simply rolled out of bed and put on clothes before storming down. He surely would have been a Gryffindor at Hogwarts. 

Harry's forehead lay in wrinkles, and his lips were pressed firmly together. He seemed a bit like a caged animal that was either about to bite or run.

Tom recognised the pictures clutched in his hands. Right, those had been in his closet. Theoretically, in a warded drawer that kept even Luppy and Zisby out. He would have to check what had happened to those wards. Maybe they had been destabilised because of the bond.

What was done, was done, however.

Harry opened his mouth as if to speak, but then just turned on his heels and marched away.

Tom sighed.

He would have to deal with this now.

"Severus, Lucius, I would like to speak with you in my study in a few minutes. Everyone else is dismissed. I will see you at the Fundraiser." He got to his feet.

Selwyn, Avery and Macnair were gone instantaneously with loud cracks. Runcorn and Nott remained behind as if to ask questions, but Tom raised an eyebrow at them, and they looked away gathering their parchments.

Snape and Malfoy both bowed to him and departed into the direction of the study. Maybe they would be bold enough to enquire about Harry.

Tom focussed. CRACK.

He reappeared outside, startling Frank, who was cutting the hedge. Tom had placed a permanent memory charm on him, which made him forget magic right after he'd seen it. He didn't want to endlessly explain himself to his gardener. Or get another house-elf.

"You can't just walk out," Tom said, striding after his fleeing husband with long steps.

"Of course I will walk," Harry yelled back without turning around. "I'm not letting you teleport me back! I wouldn't trust you with getting me a glass of water now."

Harry continued his path directly across Tom's big lawn. It was a clear day with birds singing in the distant trees. Harry held himself stiff, his hair a mess of black curls. Tom sighed.

 _Merlin,_ this marriage had lasted all but three days – two of which Harry had slept off the magical exhaustion – and he already wanted to commit murder.

It was a bother that people couldn't just do what they were told. Harry was supposed to be his magical power boost, and maybe a bedmate.

He _wasn't_ supposed to be a nuisance.

"How do you even plan to get back to Surrey?" Tom asked. "Little Hangleton is in Northern England. It's too far." When Harry didn't even look back, he sent a silent _Petrificus_ after him. He would not continue this conversation while running through his own gardens.

Running was such a waste of breath. It got you all sweaty. And it served absolutely no purpose when you could do talking while standing still just fine.

"Oh, this again," Harry spit out, as his body froze. "This time I'm calling it what it is. Kidnapping! To hell with your creepy house and your weird minions – or whatever they are." Tom heard someone catch their breath behind him. When he looked back, he saw nothing, however. 

So many idiots with no survival instinct around here.

This was why 'Death Eater' numbers shrank. It wasn't his fault.

Tom wondered how many people, other than him, were this directly confronted with _what a disappointment their adult selves would become._ Calling followers 'Death Eaters'. Honestly.

"Luppy," he shouted, and the elf appeared. Quickly he pulled up a silencing charm.

"Yes, Master Tom?"

"Find out, who was trying to eavesdrop on this conversation." He refocused his gaze on Harry, whose eyes had widened.

 _Good._ He finally understood that he couldn't just do whatever he wanted here.

Tom crossed his arms, walking closer and peeked down at Harry's frozen form. In a way, he despised having a bond-mate this weak. Someone who couldn't even cast a single _Lumos_. Harry wasn't his equal in any way. But then that made it so much easier to control him. He couldn't even block a _Petrificus_.

"I will take the bus," Harry said. "You know. _Transportation_ for those of us who weren't born with a silver spoon in our mouths. And magical powers..." Tom turned up his nose. He sure as hell wouldn't retaliate with his own sob story. He'd only been an orphan during WW2 after all. Taking the bus had nothing on that.

"Well, too bad," he said. "But you're not leaving. You can't. New marriage bonds need some time to settle. You need to be in the same house as me for the next two weeks at least. The honeymoon period, _sweetheart_."

That was a complete lie. The bond had needed a single night to grow to its full strength. And now it was flourishing wonderfully. Not that Harry could feel any of that yet. He was a little damsel in distress.

"Like I give a fuck about whatever bond you have going on. I've never had magic. I don't bloody need it now!"

Tom cast a _Silencio_ on Harry, delighted at his put-out expression.

Now, what to do? He could, of course, _Imperio_ Harry.

But that would be boring. _Imperio_ was suitable for short time use only. The curse ate up a lot of magical energy. Retaining it for a long time – in Harry's case, his whole life – would be exhausting _._

_And again, boring._

Brainless marionettes just weren't his style. There was no skill in it. Not when there were so many better tactics to get people to do what he wanted. Manipulations, threats, pain. _Endless possibilities._

_And he was good at those._

But with Harry, it wasn't that easy. Having a good relationship with the only person he could sleep with from now on was ... important. The problem was that the little trust Harry had granted him before, was shattered now. And taping it back together would be hard.

But not impossible. Tom needed time to think of something.

"You shouldn't overexert yourself, _beloved_ ," he said. Harry's eyes narrowed to slits. _This was fun._

Tom pressed their foreheads together as if to check the temperature. He nodded apologetically. "Yes, I thought so. You are heating up. No travelling is advisable at this point. I'm only concerned, darling." He took hold of Harry's body and apparated them back to Harry's rooms.

At some point, this had been his grandparents' bedroom. Tom still felt silently victorious that he was now living here. He'd just had to provide proof that he was his father's grandson and the Muggle Officials hadn't asked too many questions.

He might have also _Confunded_ them a bit. In theory, he still should have bought the house. _But those were details._

This place had been a mess when he first arrived here in 1993. Ivy had spread all across its surface, tiles were missing from the roof. On the inside, it had been worse; mould in the kitchen, and rats in the cellar. 

But, magic could solve such problems quickly. Only magical infestations were hard to handle – muggle ones, no problem. He even had a gardener at hand with Frank Bryce who'd been happy that someone lived in the house again. And didn't think him a murder.

Tom started setting up Wards around Harry's room. He didn't bother anchoring them with runes. That would take forever, and it wasn't like Harry knew anything about wardbreaking. Tom would just have to recast them every few days.

One was supposed to inform him if Harry harmed himself. Just in case. That would be inconvenient.

One made sure the doors remained locked and were unbreakable. Harry could use the bathroom, but only Tom would be able to open the one to the hallway.

He made sure to tie them to his biological signature. That was a bit more complicated. But maybe Harry and he had exactly the same magical signature. Attaching it to that, which was how Wards usually worked, might not prevent Harry from leaving.

He called the elves and told them, they should listen to what Harry was saying, but they couldn't help him get out of the room.

"The elves have filled up your closet." Tom looked around and pointed to the bookshelf he had the elves move in from the library. "These books are from my last two years at school, though they might be a bit hard to understand without the basics. There is some muggle non-fiction too. You have paper and a typewriter." Tom shrugged.

What did other people do in their free time? He had no idea.

Harry was staring at a point behind his head. Seemingly not listening at all.

Well. Tom would have to come up with a plan for that. Until he had found something, locking Harry in was his best option. He lifted the _Petrificus_ and the _Silencio_ and apparated away.

+++

Tom was twenty years old.

Even though it wasn't a hundred per cent correct anymore, he still went by December 31st as his birthday. His birth certificate now said 1976, however. So he'd (sort of) de-aged himself fifty years, which in and of itself was quite the feat.

The 90s were better; fewer bombs being thrown on London. 

Two men looked up as he entered his study. Malfoy and Snape had had their heads bowed together in discussion. Tom did consider them two of the most useful – what had Harry said, _minions_ – his alter ego had marked over the years.

He only remembered old Abraxas Malfoy from when he'd strutted around the Slytherin common room. Tom had been two years older, and still, that little blockhead had thought he could order him around. Call him a Mudblood to his face.

_Oh, how the tables had turned._

Snape was a bit of a wildcard. Tom wasn't so sure where his loyalties lay. It wasn't anything in particular that threw him off. More of a general feeling. Snape gave legitimate information about Dumbledore, so Tom considered him useful anyway. 

His secrecy vows were so tight that he felt secure behind them.

"My Lord?" Malfoy asked with a deep bow. Tom sighed.

It had been amusing to have them crawl and kiss his feet for about two seconds. But this grovelling was just appalling. These two did their jobs well in comparison to some of the other idiots, he had to deal with. There was nothing to fear – most of the time.

"Yes, Lucius?" he said and sat down behind the beautiful mahogany desk. This used to be his father's study. It was one of the rooms on the ground floor with a direct door to the gardens. Whether his father had ever actually used it to work, he couldn't say.

He had a feeling that man had done nothing but relax until the day he died.

"Is your ... husband truly the Potter boy? As in, Harry James Potter." Malfoy seemed to nearly swallow his tongue when Tom glanced at him. 

As he had said before. _Disgusting_ _subservience._ Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered with them. But then he remembered how much influence Malfoy had in the ministry.

"Yes, it is." 

Tom looked through his paperwork. Business was looking good. It had been a great idea to invest the few gallons he'd earned in the summer of 1993 into equity funds and shares. While the stock market required much of his attention, and he had to be far too knowledgeable of muggle politics, it had brought in quite the profit. 

Not that Tom was, in any way, rich. He had the house and clothes to seem affluent. Muggle's were unsurprisingly easy to rob. Everything else would come soon enough.

"Well, my Lord. The last time I heard, Harry Potter died together with his parents on the night of your defeat." Malfoy coughed and quickly lowered his head.

 _It wasn't my defeat_ , Tom would like to say. And it wasn't. He had no personal memories of the time after he'd been stashed away in his diary. He'd researched the essential things in Voldemort's, however. But those were instable and confusing.

Those memories were the reason Harry Potter was sitting up there in his grandparents' bedroom.

"No, Lucius, as a matter of fact, Harry Potter didn't die. As you could just witness, he's very much alive."

Malfoy obviously wanted to ask more. But again, too scared. And cowards didn't deserve free information.

"What will happen with Mr Potter now?" Snape asked. His face was utterly blank. Tom had to admit that most of his distrust came from the fact that Snape was just too good at not showing his emotions or thoughts. You didn't become that proficient unless you had something to hide.

"Nothing really. He's my husband. I will treat him as such. It will take time for him to learn about our culture. He's muggle raised, you see." Tom shrugged. Not that he really cared whether Harry could ever accompany him to galas and pureblood parties. Tom was excellent at charming the pants of the wizarding population all by himself.

Maybe it was the Voldemort persona which had forced him to walk away from purity extremism. Perhaps it was all these purebloods willing to kiss his feet. It told him that _all_ humans were weak. Not just muggles.

"Anyway. You shall not concern yourselves with Harry. You won't see much of him, anyway. I hope everything is ready for the upcoming Fundraiser?"

Malfoy nodded.

"Great. And will Dumbledore attend?" he looked at Snape.

"I believe so, my Lord," he said. "He's deeply suspicious of you." Tom nodded. That was to be expected. Even if his vows prevented Snape from informing Dumbledore of Tom's return, his own face gave him away. And call him vain, he wasn't changing that.

Nobody remembered Tom Riddle as more than a model student who'd graduated with high NEWT scores and then never came back from travelling the world. Voldemort had taken care of that.

Tom had aged since his school days. He wore his hair in a different style. It had to be enough to be seen as a grandchild rather than a doubleganger.

He was about to dismiss them when he got another idea.

"Oh and, Lucius. Search for a suitable location which will serve as our meeting place in the future." With Harry around, he didn't want them to have too much insight into his private life. Such information was useful, even if you couldn't tell anybody. With that, he waved them off, and they hurried away. _Chickens_.

Tom looked at the stack of letters his two owls and a few others had brought in the last few days. He'd not had the time for correspondence, because he'd been magically exhausted as well and sleeping a lot. But he couldn't put it off any longer.

+++

Nagini came to visit him in the evening hours. He had sent off three owls with answers already, and two were still sitting on a perch near the ceiling. They looked disconcerted at the snake.

 _"Your forehead is all wrinkly. I think you should_ _shed some skin. It's always good to feel fresh."_ Tom rolled his eyes. She was such an old maid.

 _"You know that humans cannot do that,"_ he said.

 _"Well I still don't understand, why not. It's_ _such a basic thing to do."_ She slithered around his desk and up onto the windowsill. Tom shook his head. Sometimes he wondered why he kept _her_. But then she was the only one, he could talk to about the important things.

 _"I like him. That nestmate you chose. It must_ _have been hard to find another two-legger who could speak."_ Tom paused, then turned to Nagini.

 _"He can speak?"_ he asked and slowly removed his quill from the parchment to let the ink drop onto a tissue.

_"You didn't know, Master? I like coupling as much_ _as the next snake. But even I check whether someone speaks my language."_

Tom shook his head. Harry Potter was a Parselmouth. Was that before or after he'd bonded to Tom?

 _"Master? Is your nestmate supposed to slither off_ _in the grass-lands?"_ Tom blinked at her quietly for a few seconds.

 _"It looks like he's made it to the edge of the_ _territory."_ She gazed at something in the gardens.

Usually, snakes had awful eyesight. They were practically blind. But his former-self had done some sort of ritual to make Nagini a better-protected container for his Horcrux.

Tom squinted into the darkness and saw Harry running along the hedge. He looked like a single white shirt floating through the night.

He sighed. _His husband was a nuisance_. It was official. 

But at least he wasn't a coward. Harry didn't quite grasp what was going on, but he never shrank back. Never whimpered at his feet. Well, at least not anywhere outside the bedroom. And that had been appealing, Tom admitted.

"Zisby," he shouted, and the elf appeared.

"Yes, Master Tom," she said.

"How is it, that Harry is down in the gardens and not in his room?" The elf stepped uncertainly from one big foot to the next. Zisby knew his temper well, although he'd never raised a hand against her. There was no fun in hurting house-elves – they couldn't even fight back.

"Well. Master Harry is opening the window. And then he is making a big rope out of his sheets. He's ripping them although Zisby is telling him that he shouldn't. And then he is binding it to the bed and climbing all the way down."

Tom sighed. He'd only said Zisby wasn't allowed to help. He hadn't commanded that she actively prevented Harry from fleeing. Or came and inform Tom if he did. Another problem he had with house-elves. They followed the instructions exactly. You needed to cover all bases when telling them what to do.

"Well, Zisby. Go catch him and put him back in his room. He is not allowed to leave it, okay? It's your job to assure that!"

"Yes, Master Tom," she squeaked and popped away. Shortly after he heard a yell and the white shirt was gone.

+++

Harry was seething. He'd been so stupid. 

Even though he hadn't heard it every day in his youth, it was common sense that if someone kidnapped you, you did not drink wine with them. Or let them fuck you afterwards. Not even if they dropped a bomb as big as _magic_ in your lab. 

He had none of that common sense.

Harry sighed as he stared up at the ceiling of the room, which had seemed so beautiful to him only a few days ago. The last night he hadn't been able to sleep, however. He felt trapped. Riddle _and_ the elves could teleport. So how was he supposed to outrun them?

It was now dawn, and the red light of the new day just told him, that _yes,_ this was Little Hangleton. And _yes_ , it still hadn't been a dream or hallucinations.

He sighed again. He felt so tired, but he just couldn't sleep. That never happened to him before. Harry could sleep in all sorts of places. In the cupboard, on the bus, on the floor, outside in a tent.

Everywhere, if he was tired. But he couldn't sleep here. In this well-made fourposter bed with a mattress that had the highest threat count, he'd ever encountered.

Maybe it was because he felt comfortable even though he didn't want to feel comfortable. If that made any sense outside his head.

The books weren't all that interesting. There was _Advanced_ _Arithmancy, A Study of Magical Law, The Ministry of Magic: A Guide for Beginners,_ _Magical Communities Around the Globe, Dark Magic and Light Magic: Myths and_ _Truth._ Harry didn't know what to do with that one. Dark magic sounded ominous.

Then there were multiple dictionaries with little sticky notes in them. There was _Latin_ and _Old Greek_. _Elder Futhark._ Who even needed this? Were dead languages and alphabets connected to magic somehow?

Muggles were non-magical people, Harry realised when he discovered the paperbacks which were stacked on a different shelf. 

They didn't much help him either though. Riddle had _The God Particle,_ whose first chapter was called: _The Invisible_ _Soccer Ball_. He'd closed it again after that. Whoever called his footballs by the wrong name didn't deserve his attention.

There was _A Long Walk_ _to Freedom_ , and while he was interested in Nelson Mandela's story, it was so thick. _The Road Ahead_. _The Temptation of Innocence._ Riddle seemed to read many psychology books. Likely so he could exploit the weaknesses these books exposed.

Eric had always read about physics in their dorm too. To show off his intelligence. He was a rude pest. Harry didn't like to be reminded of his own deficiencies. Thank you very much.

St. Brutus was 'special' in that it was the school troublesome teenagers attended. Harry had been put there because of his _weirdness_. Aunt Petunia had indeed stopped calling it freaky at some point.

And he supposed there had been more fights in St. Brutus than at your average boarding school.

Harry wondered what Hogwarts would have been like. Where had his magic come from? Did magic just show up at random in people? Was there some sort of gene or a genetic mutation which happened?

He sighed. He shouldn't think of things like that. Thoughts about genetics were for swots. It was only sports where Harry could excel.

 _Football_. Harry got up from the bed. He'd gone through all that trouble to steal himself a football for the summer, and now it wasn't even here.

"Zisby?" he called, and she popped right into the room. He wondered how she was doing it, always coming instantaneously.

"Yes, Master Harry. Do you wish to eat breakfast?" That sounded kind of nice. His stomach growled in agreement. Room service. But then inmates got that as well, right?

"Yeah, it would be great if I could get some toast and tea." Zisby looked aghast.

"Only toast and tea?" she said. "No no, Zisby is bringing Master Harry a full English breakfast. You is being far too skinny." With that, she was gone. Harry blinked.

A short while later, Harry sat at his desk with a plate of sausages, bacon, beans and fried eggs. It was wonderful. He hadn't eaten in a long time he realised, but other things had been more important until now.

"Zisby?" he called again, and she was back. "Would you stay and eat with me?"

"Zisby? Eating with the Master?"

Harry nodded. He didn't understand what exactly house-elves were, but there seemed to be an odd form of slavery going on here. And it just rubbed him in the wrong way.

"Yes, please. I don't like eating by myself. It feels lonely." She nodded uncertainly, and a glass with a sort of thick liquid inside appeared in her hand.

"You don't want to eat full English?" he asked. That brownish stuff didn't look very appetising.

"Oh no, Master Harry. Zisby is an elf. We cannot be eating food made from animals. No no."

"You're vegan?"

"What's vegan? We house-elves is only eating porridge made from magical plants. We is needing the magic. But we is not good with digesting magical animals. And..." She made a face like she couldn't imagine eating anything more disgusting than meat.

Harry nodded. So that was plant porridge. Interesting. He was glad he was no elf.

"So Zisby. I know you told me that I'm not allowed to leave the room and so on. But could you get me some of my things from home?" She looked at him out of those big eyes. Harry figured these little house-elves triggered his protective instinct so severely because of their childlike facial proportions.

"Of course, Master Harry. There is being no problem with that at all." She was gone before he could tell her that it really wasn't that urgent. He wondered whether she knew where he lived or what his stuff looked like.

Zisby was gone for a few minutes, but then she returned, his bag hovering in mid-air.

"That's so kind of you, Zisby. Thanks!" He looked inside the bag. Yes, his football was there. And his sports stuff and yes, even his Walkman. He grinned.

"Did you see anyone around the house?" he asked as he started to unpack the bag. Zisby seemed conflicted by his chaos.

"There is being many people. It is taking Zisby a long time to get Master Harry's stuff since it was being in the automobile of the Muggle Aurors." Harry blinked at her.

"What are muggle Aurors?" he asked.

"Aurors is being the people fighting against bad wizards," she said. "The muggle ones had uniforms." _Police_ , Harry thought. To think aunt Petunia had actually called the police to her house. The neighbours would hardly believe she was 'normal' now. He sighed. 

He couldn't ever go back; he would be murdered.

Quickly Harry went into the bath to change because it was awkward doing it in front of Zisby. When he stepped back out, the rest of his clothes were neatly folded and clean on the bed. Zisby seemed to have returned to other duties.

Harry looked at his football.

While he couldn't go jogging, practising his juggling was still an option. He would just have to be careful to keep the ball low.

He took the Walkman and hung it around his neck. Most of his music was American Hip Hop. Especially 2Pac since his tracks had been on it when he'd won the Walkman from Travis a few months ago. Before that he'd just listened to whatever was on the radio. Rap music had turned into his greatest motivator when juggling now. He could do it for hours with music blasting his ears.

He didn't know the text, but he nodded along and lost himself to the beats.

Harry was out of luck, however, and the strip tore, and the Walkman dropped. It caused him to lose his fantastic count of 523, as the ball rolled into a corner of the room.

"Damnit," Harry said as he picked up the Walkman. It wasn't broken, but it was a bit bothersome around his neck. The strip didn't look like it would hold up, even if he knotted it together again.

Then he got a better idea.

"Zisby," he called.

+++

Tom had slept well, for the little time, he did allow himself to sleep. Seven hours on most nights because otherwise, his brain would lose its performance power. The rest of the day he worked.

When he asked after Harry, he was informed by Luppy that Zisby and Harry were apparently having breakfast together. Which was odd, but to each their own.

Tom wasn't one for breakfast himself. He preferred some black coffee, and nothing more. In his first life, as he referred to the time before the diary, he'd drunk black tea. But four years ago, he'd discovered coffee, and there had been no going back. 

Tom didn't much care whether that downgraded his 'Englishness'.

Around midday, Crouch Jr arrived. He'd been doing some ministry work for Tom. 

While Snape was by far his most competent brewer, Crouch was the best spy. He was great at imitating other's with the help of Polyjuice and covered his tracks with memory charms.

Crouch was also the only one questioning Tom's identity since Tom wasn't very good at pretending to be himself. His other-self.

"My Lord," Crouch said shortly as he stepped through the door. 

They'd met for the first time in 1994. Crouch didn't know that, however. According to Voldemort's memories, Crouch had viewed him as a sort of father figure. Which was disturbing. For one, because Tom didn't see himself in that role. Ever. And secondly, because how insane must Crouch Sr be?

Since Crouch couldn't accuse him of being a fake to his face, he tested Tom secretly. By casting glamour disturbing charms at him. Or slipping antidote to Polyjuice into his tea. It was, of course, fruitless as he wasn't in disguise. But whatever, it was annoying.

They made their way to his study.

In comparison to all the pureblood manors, Riddle House was much smaller. There were three bedrooms, the study, a kitchen, a small cosy and a big cold living room, the dining hall and a library. Tom now used the cellar as a potions lab and a place for spell experimentation. There was an attic, but it was empty save for a few magical artefacts he didn't know what to do with yet.

Crouch licked his lips as they entered. He did that consistently, and it never failed to get on Tom's nerves. He would make sure this meeting was short. Otherwise, he might commit a murder he regretted. Crouch brought in useful information.

Tom sat down behind his desk while Crouch remained standing. Usually, if he wanted to intimidate someone, their positions would be reversed. But the Death Eaters were already scared by default so he could daunt them while seated.

"According to Pius Thicknesse, the next people who are likely to resign from the Wizengamot, and don't have direct successors in mind, will be Griselda Marchbanks, Paul Hawkworth and Linda Travers. I still don't understand, my Lord, why you don't just take advantage of Malfoy's or Avery's offer to give up their seat in the Wizengamot to you."

Crouch was lucky that Tom wasn't Voldemort anymore. He had a feeling that all his underlings would have permanent tremors from his _Crucio_. Asking for his reasons! Honestly.

Tom stared out of the window. He didn't know much about these three Wizengamot members. They might be older than _he_ was theoretically supposed to be. It was a slippery slope with people who might have known him in his youth.

But then there would always be people in the wizarding community who'd attended Hogwarts with him. He would just have to convince them that he wasn't himself. While letting the Death Eaters believe that he was.

"What do you know about the three of them?" he asked.

"Well, Griselda Marchbanks is – "

Then there was loud music coming from somewhere above.

> **All eyes on me**
> 
> **All eyes on me**

Tom turned back to Crouch, who had a drawn together his eyebrows. Tom never understood why someone would disturb beautiful silence for absolutely no reason. But Harry apparently thought differently. The music only got louder, and it sounded like it was going on right next to his ear, even though Harry's room wasn't directly above the study.

> **But you know what?**
> 
> **I bet you got it twisted, you don't know who to trust**

Tom threw up a Silencing Charm. He would have a word with his husband later. 

"Who is that, my Lord?" Crouch asked.

"My husband. He's apparently a bit fed up with being locked in his room. Now, tell me about Marchbanks." Tom's eyes went cold when he met Crouch's troubled expression. Maybe he should rethink that _Crucio_. 

Crouch licked his lips extensively. Tom credited the orphanage for the patience he had, to not murder him right here.

"Okay," Crouch swallowed. "Well. She's a member of the Wizengamot and as of recently an Examinations Authority. But she's wanted to stop the former for quite some time now." He started rattling down a biography. Tom listened, but the Silencing Charm bothered him. 

The magic always hummed, and there was an unnatural sort of quietness otherwise. It wasn't great for concentration. He didn't like being in a Silence Bubble. You heard nothing from the outside world.

Marchbanks seemed suitable.

Hawkworth might be a possibility too. He was a former Auror and wanted to go back into the field, but his father had passed away and just handed him the seat, so it stayed in the family. Hawkworth himself didn't much care for law or politics.

Travers, he wanted to avoid. It was a large family, and they surely wanted to keep it among themselves. He didn't want to take the seat from a dark wizard. He wanted to start in the good graces of light wizards. 

Taking the Malfoy or the Avery seat would only make him suspicious.

Tom sighed and waved for Crouch to stop talking. The licking had increased the more he said, and Tom had enough of that now.

"What do you plan to do, my Lord?" Crouch asked.

Tom was not doing this.

"Barty," he said, as sweetly as possible. "Have I, in any way, made you think that you have any right to question me?" A shiver passed over Couch's body.

There was silence for a long time. The humming of the magic swelling, like a swarm of bees.

"No, my Lord. I – I would never dare. You will reveal your plans when you see fit to." Tom nodded as if in thought. Then he let his silencing charm drop, and the music was back to bothering his eardrums.

> **Two in the morning and we still high, assed out**
> 
> **Screamin', "Thug 'til I die!" before I passed out**
> 
> **But now that you're gone, I'm in the zone**
> 
> **Thinkin' I don't wanna die all alone, but now you gone**

"Come to the Fundraiser as a person close to the minister. I want to know about all interactions he has there." Crouch nodded. He seemed relieved to be let off. Tom still had the fake smile, which was supposed to look artificial, on his face. He would make this a smile they feared.

"Leave now. I need to have a word with my husband."

Crouch did indeed disapparate without another word. Tom wondered why he always needed threats. And so often. Couldn't they just remember the warnings he'd already made once?

"Luppy," he yelled, almost not hearing his own words over the music.

"Yes, Master Tom?" Luppy appeared next to his desk.

"What the hell is going on with Harry?" He had to put up _another_ Silencing Charm to have this conversation.

"Master Harry is asking Zisby to put a _Sonorus_ on his headphones," Luppy said. "It is being pretty complicated because magic and technology is not getting along. But we is finding it out eventually." Luppy nodded proudly.

"And what is he doing while he listens to the music?"

"Master Harry is kicking his ball into the air. I is not knowing why." Luppy shook his head. "Master Harry is being in _the_ _zone –_ that's what he is calling it. And counting his kicks."

Tom waved Luppy off and got up. So he was blessed with a husband who didn't make any sense. Well, this wouldn't do. Tom would not get his work done while under these distracting Silencing Charms.

Tom didn't bother knocking and just walked right into Harry's bedroom.

> **In the city of L.A**
> 
> **In the city of good ol' Watts**
> 
> **In the city, the city of Compton**
> 
> **We keep it rockin', we keep it rockin'**

The noise was unbelievably even louder in this room. Tom was confused that Harry didn't have popped eardrums yet.

Harry was in front of the window, looking out and juggling a football. The room smelled of sweat and bad air. Had he prohibited him from opening the damn windows?

Harry seemed to hear nothing, but as Tom moved farther into the room, he startled so hard that he kicked the ball wrong, and it took the typewriter off the desk.

"Fuck," Harry said.

" _Silencio_ ," Tom said to the Walkman, and the din cut off.

"Damn it. I was at 976. Fuck, I almost had those one thousand. God damn it." Tom pinched the bridge of his nose.

It was his own fault. Honestly. This was why other people didn't marry teenagers. It was terrible for your health. And mental wellbeing. 

"What are you even doing here? Do you know how bloody loud that noise is all around the house."

Harry calmed down suddenly and then smiled at him.

"It must have taken you some effort to come up here. With your pride so stuck up your ass." 

So it had been his goal to be annoying. Well. Tom looked at the Walkman. All that music seemed to be in there. All he needed to do was break it. He took hold of his wand.

Harry's eyes widened, and he sprinted forward snatching it away from him.

"No!" he said. And clutched it to his chest. Tom furrowed his brow. That was blind panic right there. How could this noise be of any importance to Harry?

He wanted to shatter the damn thing, but that would hardly be beneficial in the long run. He wanted to make peace with Harry, didn't he? But this plan was already exhausting. 

"Fine. Hurt your own ears. I will just put up spells which will keep the sound in this room, and stop it from driving me to insanity." It took a lot to turn away from Harry. "And you might want to open a window."

He cast the necessary spells. He would come back another time and put the runes in place. He didn't want Harry to know where they were. He would do it when he was sleeping or something.

When he was done, he turned around to Harry whose face was blank. Tom wondered why he hadn't yet thrown a billion question at him. But then maybe he didn't even know where to start asking. The two pictures of his two school careers lay on the floor under the desk. Shot down by the ball as well.

Today wasn't the day for a heart to heart, however. He would come back when he was less furious.

"Call Zisby when you want to eat supper. You are, of course, always welcome to join me downstairs." He lifted the _Silencio_ and let the door shut behind him. Blissful silence followed.

"Luppy," he called.

"Yes, Master Tom?"

"I want the name of the eavesdropper now." There was steam to blow off.

"Peter Pettigrew," Luppy said. Great. He'd wanted to get rid of that idiot for a long time anyway. Turning into a rat wouldn't save him.

Enough was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lyrics quoted here are from the songs 'All Eyez On Me', 'Life Goes On' and 'California Love' all by 2Pac. They were released in 1996.
> 
> I hope I've been doing the time justice. 1997 was before my time. ;)
> 
> Anyway. Please tell me what you think.


	3. Of Magical Bonds And Politics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Harry play a game of Truth and Dare.

Tom wasn't one for torture.

He preferred to cleanly rid himself of people. Alone the fact that they no longer were a thorn in his side was satisfaction enough for him.

Once he'd found Pettigrew in the little hut he called home, he only dipped into his mind quickly to make sure that no loose ends remained. - Someone who would notice his absence other than the Death Eaters.

But since he was believed to be dead, there was no need to cover any tracks.

"Please, my Lord. Don't hurt Harry," Pettigrew stammered. He made no move to flee. He knew what was coming; he wasn't the first idiot, Tom had to dispose of.

Tom furrowed his brow. Pettigrew's thoughts were a weird mix of regret, fear, hope and self-hatred. It was confusing.

" _Avada Kedavra_ ," he said plainly.

The killing curse was a blessing. No blood or fluids. Just dim green light. Nothing loud that drew attention. Nothing to block it.

And then Pettigrew lay there; dead. Tom stared down at him for a few seconds. Then he transfigured him into a tree stump and apparated it to the Forest of Dean where he left the wood to rot.

+++

Harry awoke to pain.

Blinding, agonising pain. It felt like his insides were ripping apart. Something was slowly expanding in his chest.

This had to be what a heart attack felt like.

He had trouble breathing as he lay amid his tangled sheets and stared up at the ceiling. How did one react to dying?

"Zisby?" he called weakly.

But no pop sounded. There was only the silence of the night.

Harry heard his own rattling breath in his ears. He forced himself to sit up. It caused another wave of tearing and expanding behind his ribcage. When he lifted the cotton T-Shirt, however, there was nothing but smooth, unblemished skin.

It was frightening.

His mind was weirdly clear. Like the adrenaline had unified all of his brain cells to get this one task done.

He had to get help.

"Zisby?" he croaked again and swallowed thickly. Maybe house-elves needed to sleep too? The moon shown silvery through the window, it had to be sometime between 2 and 4 am. Nobody was awake.

He'd chosen the wrong time to die, it seemed.

Harry rolled himself to the side and fell out of bed. There he lay for a few seconds before he forced his muscles to push him upwards. Maybe he had suddenly developed asthma or hay fever. But then, pollen season was over, and he never had trouble with them before.

"Zisby?"

Then he remembered something.

Hadn't Riddle cast spells when he'd left the room a few hours ago? They were supposed to keep the sound in, right? _All sound._ Maybe Zisby wasn't able to hear him anymore.

Well, that fit the damn bastard well. Punishing him in this underhanded way.

Harry pushed himself forwards and managed to get to his feet with the momentum. He nearly fell the next few steps to the door.

It, of course, wouldn't open.

"Zisby," he yelled while banging his fists on the wood. "Zisby. I need help."

Harry knew that it wasn't only the pain anymore, which was constricting his throat. It was the panic as well. His heart beat too fast. It felt like forever before he heard something move on the other side.

_"Nestmate?"_

_"Nagini? Please, can you get Zisby? I'm not feeling well."_ His vision went blurry as his chest cramped again. At the same time, it felt like little knives pierced him from the inside.

_"I can smell that you are distressed. But I cannot hear you. I shall fetch Master, and he will sort you out."_ He heard her slither away.

Harry couldn't even object. He was cold, so cold. His entire body shivered, but the bed was so far away.

He must have passed out for a while, for the next thing he felt were dry hands, which touched his neck and forehead. He was lifted off the ground by a warm, soft cocoon and floated to the bed.

"Wha'?" he murmured.

"You'll be fine," Riddle's velvety voice informed him. "Your block finally snapped. The core expansion is a bit much for the body. It was a matter of time with the pressure our bond put on it. You'll have a fever but nothing worse. It's a shock to your system."

"Snapp'd?" Harry mumbled.

"Drink this." Riddle pressed a cup of something minty, which looked like vomit, to his mouth. Harry didn't even bother asking what it was. As long as it made the pain go away. Slowly he opened his lips and swallowed it down.

"It's disgustin'," he said.

"Most potions are." Harry couldn't lift his eyelids to glare at Riddle. He was so tired.

"You'll wake up when it is over," was the last thing he heard before drifting off again.

+++

The next days at Riddle House passed in relative silence. _And peace._

Tom kept up with his correspondence and did research on the people he would meet at the Fundraiser. And he checked on Harry. Not that there was much checking up to do.

He was sleeping.

Core expansion was something every magical being underwent in their life. Usually, it was a slow process. The magical energy grew with age, and the body slowly adapted to it. But Harry's Core had been put into a magical iron box when he'd still been very young.

A box which kept his Core pressed tightly together. At the same time, Harry's growth built up more and more pressure.

Tom wondered whether Dumbledore had planned on ever lifting it. It must have cost the old fool a lot of magical powers to sustain it for so long.

Maybe Tom could ask him when they met at the Fundraiser. He was looking forward to rubbing his victory in the old man's face. Dumbledore had surely noticed when the block ripped.

"Master Tom?" Luppy appeared.

"Has he woken up?"

"Yes. Master Harry is being awake. And he is demanding to see Master Tom."

Tom sighed and put Crouch's daily report to the side. He knew he would have to answer some questions eventually.

When he entered, Harry was propped up on his pillows and gazing into the distance. He startled at the noise and pulled his legs to his chest, chewing on his lower lip.

"How are you feeling?" Tom asked.

Harry pulled up his nose. "Like you care," he said.

Tom stepped closer. He needed to change this attitude. But how was he to do that, without giving Harry the freedom to walk away? And then again. Couldn't his husband at least pretend to be agreeable? He had wanted for Tom to come, not the other way around.

Maybe a _little_ honesty.

"Let's be plain," Tom said. "I know there are things you want to know. I am willing … to answer them."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He wasn't buying any of his bullshit. Inconvenient, that.

"Zisby?" Harry called, and she appeared. Tom barely prevented an annoyed snort. Couldn't they focus on one thing at the time?

"What was that Truth Serum called again?" Harry asked, and Tom froze.

"It is being called _Veritaserum_ , Master Harry." Harry smiled as he turned to face Tom.

"Veritaserum would seem a practical solution to our little trust problem. I want answers, but only under the condition that you cannot lie." Tom glared at Zisby who promptly popped away.

"You don't need to take it out on her. She only wants to help." Harry crossed his arms over his chest.

"You, on the other hand, kidnapped me. Had sex with me while intoxicated. Tattooed my back! Then locked me in a room." He counted along with his fingers. "I want truthful answers. I deserve them."

Tom observed him quietly.

"Veritaserum does more than ensure the truth! It also forces the drinker to answer the question. There is no possibility to remain silent." Almost none.

Harry shrugged. "There has been enough silence. You can read my mind. I want equal conditions."

Tom tried to occlude away his aggressions. But he'd always been bad at occlumency. He couldn't protect himself against Veritaserum. Maybe he could smuggle the antidote so that Harry wouldn't notice - maybe.

"Fine. But we'll decide on the questions beforehand," he said. "Three questions."

"That's not -"

"Three questions! And after that, I will answer one of yours for each one you answer of mine. Fair and square!"

Harry licked his lips and stared at Tom out of narrowed eyes.

"Fine," he said finally.

+++

They sat opposite each other at the table. It was Sunday afternoon.

In many ways, it looked like they had simply decided to have tea together. But there was a little bottle with clear liquid between them. Tasteless, colourless, odourless. That's what the book said.

Harry had indeed looked through Riddle's school stuff and prepared himself for this. He'd read about the antidote and given Zisby orders to inform him if Riddle was taking it.

Harry wondered why Riddle didn't just order Zisby to not do what Harry said anymore. It was odd. Like he either didn't expect the house-elves to know about magic. Or he thought Harry too stupid to ask.

"How do I know it works?" Harry said and picked up the little bottle. Riddle met his eyes, and Harry lowered his own. He wasn't giving any more advantages. No more mind-reading.

"Usually, people are asked for their name and date of birth."

Harry scoffed. "Why would anyone try to lie about that?"

Riddle sighed. "I don't know. It's just how it's done." He throbbed his fingers against the tabletop. "It's more effective to ask embarrassing questions, nobody wants to answer. We can do that."

"You can fake those too!" Riddle shrugged.

_Great. Just great._ So there simply was no reliability.

The three questions lay on the table, fully formulated on a sheet of paper. Harry wasn't allowed to ask them, Zisby would.

"Mute Harry," Riddle said, and Zisby obeyed. She looked deeply uncomfortable with the entire situation. Something Harry could relate to.

She was a sort of buffer between them.

They were complicating this unnecessarily, but he didn't want to complain. What he'd learned about Riddle in the little time he'd 'lived' here was, that he made everything complicated on principle.

And he hated losing control. Veritaserum was his personal enemy.

Riddle put three drops of the liquid into his tea and stirred like the Queen was sitting there with them _._ Finally, he emptied the little cup in a few sips and went very still. He gestured for Zisby to begin. She hemmed quietly.

"Number One. What sort of magical bond do you have with Harry Potter, and what does it involve?" she read.

Riddle opened his mouth without pause. The voice which left him didn't seem like his own. It was devoid of life. Without any ups and downs. Just monotone.

"We have an unequal marriage bond. It was formed through Sex Magic on our wedding night." Harry scoffed at that. Wedding night. _What wedding night?_

"It is used when someone is marrying into a family. During the Sex Magic, the spouses' magic touches for the first time. It mingles, explores one another. People like us who have very similar magic - soulmates - end up with a unified core. The magic isn't able to properly separate afterwards. It doesn't know to whom it belongs. We can both access this Unified Core - mostly."

Harry would like to pose questions for clarification, but as he was mute, he just had to wait for Zisby to continue with the next question that he had written down.

"Number Two. What do the symbols on Harry Potters' back mean?"

Riddle seemed to struggle with his words but finally continued answering.

"The branding runes are part of this marriage rite. Because one partner is entered into a family, their own magic needs to take a submissive position within the relationship. The dominant person receives control to repress the magic in certain rituals. In our case, it means that I have primary control over our Core, and can lock Harry out partially if it is necessary."

Harry glared at him. Riddle had truly taken complete advantage of the fact that Harry knew nothing when they'd run into each other at Privet Drive.

Why had Riddle searched in Little Whinging for his soulmate in the first place? It would be the last place Harry would have looked at himself.

"Number Three. Why don't you let Harry Potter go?"

Harry thought that question was the most important of the lot. _Didn't Riddle have what he wanted?_

"Because I would lose his power again if he died. If he is here, I can make sure that he's safe... I also want to sleep with him again." Harry felt his face heat as he glared at Riddle.

His vis-à-vis dared to not look the least bit embarrassed.

Zisby glanced back and forth between them and Riddle put three drops of Veritaserum into Harry's cup.

"Mute me, Zisby," he said. "And then unmute, Harry." He flicked his fingers. "If I make this sign. I want you to unmute me again. And mute Harry instead." She nodded dutifully and Riddle went quiet with a flick of her hand.

Then she picked up the paper. Harry put the cup to his lips and sipped on it. Riddle crossed his arms and stared him down until he took a couple more sips.

Zisby hemmed again and looked at the paper.

"What did you feel when having Tom Riddle's cock inside of you?" she asked with a straight face. Harry spit into his tea and felt his face flush. Before he could be more than mortified his mouth already opened.

"It was like …" Harry bit his own lips to prevent them from moving, but it was pointless. He covered his mouth, but Riddle flicked his wand, and his hands were tied to the armrests in seconds. This, of course, only made him remember more clearly what that night had been like.

"… being free. It was so good having something so big move inside of me." Harry glanced at Zisby, who looked at the floor. He lowered his eyes to the tabletop in humiliation. "And that sweet spot. It was the greatest pleasure I've ever felt. I loved being tied down." Harry exhaled. The shame was pushing tears into his eyes. He blinked them away.

The potion finally let him off. The monotone voice had only made this worse. Proved it was true.

Riddle did the snipping motion with his hand, and Zisby simultaneously unmuted Riddle and muted Harry, so he couldn't even vent his anger.

"A question please, Master Harry," Zisby said, and Harry stared down at the blank parchment. What had he wanted to ask again? He'd completely forgotten.

"We can stop if you like," Riddle said and smirked at him. _Of course, that was his plan._

But then Harry had already earned his next question. He would bloody ask it.

_What have you [Tom Riddle] lied about in front of me [Harry Potter] since the day we met?_ he wrote down and slid it over to Zisby. She waited until Riddle had sipped his tea before she continued.

Riddle looked at him almost appreciative, once she'd finished. Slyness was his kink, it seemed.

"I theoretically wasn't your fiancé when we met, I only saw myself as such. I knew you were my magical soulmate for very long. I was searching for Harry Potter, not a random person. I never knew my grandparents, so I didn't grow up with them."

Harry watched him. Who was this man? Nothing about him made any sort of sense.

"Marriage bonds don't need more than one night to settle --", then Riddle fell quiet. It seemed his dose of Veritaserium was used up. Harry wanted to say that this wasn't fair. Riddle raised his eyebrows in a challenge and gestured at Harry's cup.

Harry pressed his lips together, then shook his head.

He would somehow get Riddle to answer the rest of his questions. He just didn't want to spout sex talk, while Zisby was right there, listening.

+++

Tom gave unambiguous instructions when he left for the Fundraiser on Monday afternoon. Zisby and Luppy were to make sure that Harry stayed in the house or on the front lawn if he wanted to play ball so badly.

Nagini laughed at him when he had to read the elves a scroll of rules to follow while he was away. He was taking no chances with this.

Tom had planned for this event too long to leave without all his goals fulfilled. Not because his husband couldn't be unproblematic for a single day.

The Fundraiser was held at Nott House since between all his minions Nott had the broadest reach among the wizarding population. About half of the Wizengamot were invited, and all the pure-blood family heads.

Who actually showed up, they would see tonight.

Tom apparated to the front gates of the property and took in the tables with pristine white tablecloths and the floating lights hanging above them. Everything was set up in the gardens. No use cramping up in the dark manor house if you could stay outside in the comfortable summer wind.

For Tom, this party was purely for the purpose of networking. For most others, it was about the donations this day would collect to support victims of werewolf attacks.

Some thought it was to support those _turned_ by the werewolf bite. Others that it was to further push werewolves out of their society. To protect all future victims. Tom didn't think it necessary to specify.

The first thing he did after he arrived was walk up to the host for introductions. Macnair startled when he saw Tom and turned to Nott very abruptly. They were such awful actors.

Macnair took up position.

"How can you just let lesser wizards and witches into the home of your ancestors?" he accused Nott.

Nott wasn't much better, but because he was so even-tempered that nobody would notice.

"Macnair," he said in his deep voice. "I don't want this sort of talk on my grounds."

"But these Mudbloods-"

Tom almost shook his head. _Truly awful actors_. But then being a bigoted ass didn't need much convincing. Just pure fury made the cut.

Tom already saw Amelia Bones turn from her discussion with her niece. With fast strides, he put himself between Nott and Macnair.

"Gentlemen," he said with his best soothing voice. "I'm sure there is no reason to get this abusive."

"Riddle," Macnair spit and Tom hoped nobody else saw the flicker of fear in his eyes. "Like you're much better than a Mudblood!"

Tom snapped his wand forward and immobilised him. More eyes turned their way. The only attention he really needed was Bones', but it surely wouldn't hurt to have some more.

"I think it would be better to send this unwelcome guest outside, Edward," Tom said. Nott waved for Crabbe and Goyle Jr who marched Macnair off without another word.

"My apologies," Tom said to the onlookers. "I didn't want to disturb the rest of you with our dispute." Some avoided his eyes ashamed. Most likely abashed at themselves for not standing up against bigotry. He met Bones' gaze. She looked thoughtful. Maybe she hadn't talked to Dumbledore yet, and he had made a positive first impression.

She didn't come closer, but he would have enough time to speak to her in the future.

Instead, a group of Wizengamot elders made their way over, and both Nott and Tom turned to welcome them into their discussion.

"Well met, Lord Nott. Who may this young fellow be," an elderly woman asked with a toothy smile. "Never seen him around. And there's hardly anyone I haven't seen before."

Nott tilted his head. "Well met, Lady Abbott. Mr Ogden. Ms Marchbanks. This is Mr Riddle. He's grown up mostly in Prague and went to Durmstrang. He's recently come back to Britain to claim his roots. I only met him myself not long ago." Tom smiled and returned the greetings.

"It's very admirable Mr Riddle that someone takes a stand against those among our society who spew nothing but hatred," Marchbanks said. Tom wanted to pat himself on the shoulder. His plan had worked brilliantly even with the wooden execution.

"It is some personal bias too, you need to understand," he said. "Both my mother and father, while magical, had muggle ancestors. They weren't any lesser. I grew up with my muggle grandmother, who adapted to the wizarding community of Prague, just for my benefit."

The elders nodded touched.

"What happened to your parents if I may ask after them?" Ogden asked. "You seem very young to be parentless."

Tom nodded sadly. He'd known a good sob story would be his best path of action.

"My parents both died when I was young. They were in Britain visiting Muggle relatives of my father's and fell victim to the war. I was two or three years old at the time."

Marchbanks' smile failed, and she hovered a hand before her mouth.

"Oh, I understand, young man," she said. "Most of us have lost someone during the war. Dark, dark times those were. It's lovely to have you with us now. We need more decent people in the ministry. Do you plan on taking up a job here?"

Tom nodded quickly. _Eager and earnest_ , he told himself.

"Indeed. I travelled quite a bit over the last years and plan on settling down now. I've just gotten married, you see. And moved back into my late great grandfather's house. I'm very interested in politics and law. I would love to become an apprentice and learn how it's done here."

Marchbanks smiled at him and put a hand on his arms.

"That's lovely Mr Riddle. Please write me letters and I'm sure I can set you up. All three of us would love to have you assist us."

Tom nodded.

"That would be lovely, Madam," he said. "It is very appreciated that you help someone like me with no connections in this country to speak of. I will surely stay in touch."

When the three excused themselves, Tom let his eyes wander through the crowd. Everyone was dressed to impress. There was Malfoy with his heir who looked like a nearly perfect carbon copy of him. His wife, who was chatting with a few young ladies.

They were about Harry's age, he believed. But they looked younger than his husband. They were used to having their parents handle their affairs. And for the most part, they didn't need more than that. Draco Malfoy was born at the top, and he would stay there his entire life.

Harry had a different aura. One that Tom knew from himself. Ready to face everything the world threw at him, head-on. Being by yourself in a big world was an experience many people never had to make.

A crowd had formed at the other end of the garden. It seemed Dumbledore had arrived. Tom was still a bit uncertain about how he wanted to play this.

Tom wanted him to know that he'd won. With Harry and with everything else. But he couldn't be too obvious. Dumbledore was a dangerous opponent.

Tom let himself drift through the masses. Nott introduced him to the Parkinsons, and the Boots. He met a few Aurors and half of the Wizengamot members. The other candidate willing to give up his seat hadn't come, so he would have to come up with a plan B for that.

"Already married?" Lady Greengrass asked. "Who might the lovely lady be?" It was now dusk, and the Nott house-elves were keeping little golden spheres of light afloat all around the garden. They looked like little fireflies.

"His name is Harry," Tom said. "We met and felt a deep connection between us. We're soulmates." Pure delight brightened up her face.

"Soulmates. How lovely. But that's so rare. How did you manage to find him?" Her gaze got a bit far away. Tom smiled; witches were so predictable. Trashy soulmate romance novels were dominating the book market. Everyone wanted to meet theirs. Many of his fellow students, had even planned to 'save' themselves for their own soulmates.

It would be interesting to find out who actually had.

Tom had always found it utterly ridiculous until he had heard of the double powers soulmate-bonds granted. The unified core which they formed and both parties could profit from.

He'd never searched for his own though. He'd simply stumbled upon him.

"Lady Greengrass, might I cut in," Dumbledore interrupted. "I've heard that there was a new face around." Greengrass turned slightly and allowed him to enter their group. She didn't like him. That much was obvious.

"Of course, headmaster." She smiled at Tom again. "Please do come over for tea and bring that lovely spouse along." She winked and disappeared into the crowd. Tom gestured with his hand, and they retreated off to the side.

"You have decided to reenter the public then, my boy?" Dumbledore asked. Tom hated to be belittled like this.

"If that's what you wish to call it," he said. He felt a strong silencing charm settle over them. It was crazy how strong Dumbledore was. Even so close to expiring.

"I'm told that you stood up to bigotry on this evening. Against one of your own followers even." Dumbledore stroked his beard.

"People change," Tom said simply.

"But not enough to leave the innocent out of their scheming?"

"And you're the saint and the rest of us the sinners?" Tom asked. "And everyone who has no goal in life is innocent. You're the one who kept Harry from the wizarding world. You're the reason he doesn't know anything. He might have been able to identify sex magic if he'd dipped a single toe into the wizarding world before."

Dumbledore conjured himself a chair and sat down with a sigh. Tom was sure this supposed weakness was nothing but manipulation.

"I suppose that is correct. How did you discover that Harry survived your killing curse, anyway? He didn't have the same - insurance - you did, after all."

Tom ground his teeth. It was annoying. As if Dumbledore had known all along that Tom couldn't die.

He pressed his lips together. They stared each other down in silence for a while.

"So are you going to hide Harry in your dungeon?" Dumbledore asked. "His family reported him missing to the muggle authorities. This is now an abduction. Your newly found allies might be quite - interested, hmm - in hearing of that."

Tom shrugged.

"If you do, you will have to come clean that Harry Potter is still alive. And it wouldn't change much. Harry would still be my soulmate. Wizardkind is forgiving of stormy romances off this kind."

Dumbledore sighed again, and his eyes became distant.

"You're not really the Voldemort who was defeated, are you? You are back to being a young man. You don't carry most of _his_ sins."

Tom looked up, but Dumbledore didn't turn to him.

"You still have many of your own, mind. You might want to learn from _his_ mistakes, Tom. He thought power was all there was to the world and he failed _miserably_ in grasping it. Will you walk his path?"

"What I do and don't is hardly any of your business. You'll just have to live with the aftermath."

"That's true. But you'll have to live with Harry, my boy." With that, Dumbledore got to his feet.

"As it seems you have already promised to bring Harry to one of Lady Greengrass' tea parties. I wonder, hmm, how that will work out for you."

With that, Dumbledore swept away, his robes leaving a painful imprint in Tom's view.

Somehow he didn't feel the satisfaction he thought he would when bragging about Harry.

+++

As it turned out, the lawn at Riddle House couldn't be better suited as a football field. The only problem Harry found was that not having opponents to share it with, was a dampener to his newfound practice grounds.

"Team discussion," he called. "Zisby, Luppy, _Nagini_."

Zisby and Luppy arrived instantly. Nagini merely lifted her head from the side of the pitch where she was sunbathing.

"Is there any chance that you have time for some football with me?" Harry was uncomfortable with asking them for anything as they seemed unable to deny his orders. But then there was no one around he could ask for a match.

"Luppy and Zisby is having much to do," Luppy said. "But we can be enchanting a few orbs to play with Master Harry. We is used to doing this. They is using them during Quidditch matches."

"Quidditch?"

"It is a ball game which is being played on brooms," Zisby said.

"Like flying?"

She nodded. Harry looked up just to check that there were, in fact, no people on brooms flying about.

"Okay, well, I would like one enchanted opponent, please," he nodded. He would figure out where one of those flying brooms was. That sounded like a worthwhile project for his summer in captivity.

Playing against an invisible ball turned out to be an impossible endeavour. For one thing, Harry couldn't see where it was before it knocked him over or stole away his football.

And well, it was a sphere, so Harry felt he had next to no options in protecting himself against it. It was flying too.

It was a bit like playing football in his younger years. When he was eleven and had never been part of any extracurricular activity before. But St. Brutus had offered and Harry had always wanted to be a pro-football player. He had been called a failure for most of his first two years on the team. He was far behind the others.

But he practised juggling every free minute. Went jogging at least three times a week. Ate more than he was hungry for. And it paid off.

Persistence always paid.

Finally, he called Zisby, however, to make it stop and fell back into the grass to stare at the sky.

_"You are an odd one, nestmate,"_ Nagini said and positioned herself on him. _"What it the point of that idiotic game?"_

" _You do fit very well with your Master, do you?"_ Harry said and started stroking her scales. _"He's just as grumpy."_

_"We are of one soul after all,"_ she said. Harry furrowed his brow. That sounded ominous.

_"Do you ever feel caged?"_ he asked. " _Do you ever want to leave this house?"_

_"Why would I do that?"_ she asked. _"It is hard to find any juicy mouses far from a den such as this. And it's always warm in winter. I'm not made for this climate."_

Harry sighed. Of course, she wouldn't understand.

_"I met a Boa once who told me that she'd neven been to her home country either. I don't remember anymore whether she was sad about it or not. It was back when I was eleven."_

_"Oh, the Boas can be quite melodramatic. I'm sure she cried her eyes out."_

Harry chuckled.

_"Why don't you just accept my master, nestmate?"_ Nagini asked. _"He is not going to hurt you. You are likely the only two-legger that could truly mean something to him. He needs that. Otherwise, he won't make it long with his mind intact."_

_"What do you mean by that, Nagini?"_ She looped around his legs and torso. Pulling him tighter to her body. She seemed a little shivery. Maybe they should go back inside - it was getting rather cold.

_"The Master used to be a bit nonsensical. He would forget things. Think something was waiting for him behind every corner. He's been better since his body changed. But I've noticed a few signs which point back in that direction. You are the chance he has, I think."_

Harry looked up at the sky, unsure how to respond to that. Ordinary people didn't lock up their One Night Stands that was for sure. Maybe Riddle was a sociopath. Or a cult leader or something.

Harry needed to learn how to protect himself from that.

He sat in his bed that evening and listened whether Riddle had already come home. When he was sure he was alone, he called for Zisby.

"Yes, Master Harry?" she said. The spells to prevent noise leaving his room were gone. Harry had promised himself to not be annoying enough to get muted again. That pain had shaken something deep inside of him.

"You do magic without a wand," Harry said. "Can I do that too?"

"Wandless magic is being very hard for wizards and witches," she said. "Zisby thinks that is mostly because they is being so used that the wand is channelling it for them. They is used to the magic doing what they want."

Harry nodded. "So I can learn how to do wandless magic?"

"Sure you cans, Master Harry. You just is needing to practice a lot. The wands is being able to do the more complicated spells."

"Like what?"

"Well. It is depending on how easy it is to picture for something to happen. Magic is liking when there is being two states. For example, the Fire-Making Spell: _Incendio_. There is either being fire or not. Two states. For magic that is being easy."

She held out her hand, and suddenly there was a big flame dancing on top of it. She closed it, and the fire disappeared.

"It is depending on how good you can picture it. In the beginning, you may be seeing the fire, but it is not being hot. _Lumos_ is the same. It mays be even easier than _Incentio_. There is light or not. No worrying about the heat."

Harry nodded. He would try those two then.

"What sort of spells can you do with a wand?"

"The powerful spells is needing a wand. Like the _Patronus_. It is tough even then. It is needing the form and happy memories. It is needing focussed bundled magical energy. Other magic which is needing a wand is _Obliviate_ \- memory changing spell. Or all the healing spells. They be needing a lot of focus and precision. And they is doing many things at the same time. Not just two states."

Harry wasn't so sure whether he genuinely understood, but he nodded. He would practice. Setting something on fire or blinding someone seemed like an excellent place to start.

_Lumos. Incendio._ He would remember those.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I hope this magical bond theory isn't too confusing.
> 
> I drew a [TFFT (Tom's fake family tree)](https://coffee-curse.tumblr.com/post/616467579371929600/the-tfft) to visualize how Tom imagines his fake family history. (Spoiler: It's very vague)  
> He hopes he won't have to explain why everyone in his family died young^^. A curse maybe? But then not that many people seem to have grandparents in HP anyway.
> 
> I would also just like to say that this isn't Dumbledore Bashing. I think Dumbledore is a fun character. Tom just really doesn't like him.  
> Also, I have no idea how to write House-Elf-Speech. I'm mostly just winging it. ;) Sorry for all remaining mistakes.


	4. A Few Unpleasant Realisations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things aren't going as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried for a Northern English dialect for Frank - I don't know if I managed alright ;) I also don't claim those Latin words. It's all Google Translate ;)

Harry had never thought that he would miss his 'family'.

This supposed 'homesickness' was something he'd never experienced.

But he also didn't remember being this bored before.

He didn't have to do the cleaning or garden work. There was no Dudley to avoid in the way of long walks through the neighbourhood. Or, well, he just couldn't get farther from the house than the hedge.

So essentially there was nothing to do.

Harry was again lying on the front lawn after a training session and staring up at the clouds passing in the clear sky.

_This was, of course, a stakeout mission._

The truth was, from here, he could see into the study. Riddle sat behind his desk, surrounded by a brood of owls, scribbling on parchment with a feather.

How nobody had told these wizards about pens - Harry didn't know.

Riddle was doing this all day, _every day_. Harry could attest to that. He was sitting out here on the lawn for the last week or so. Sometimes he was juggling. Sometimes he built up an obstacle course of random objects for dribbling practice. There was no other purpose for this ghastly compass or the antique rotary dial telephone which wasn't working.

Riddle went out every two days for a few hours. The rest of the time, he sat in his study and 'worked'. He wore either uncomfortable suits buttoned up to his throat or wizarding robes.

Those looked utterly ridiculous, with the bright colours, and the weird pointy hats. Harry generally considered himself respectful of foreign cultures - but, please. It looked like he wore a Halloween costume.

And Riddle wasn't really foreign - was he? He was just weird.

The most pressing question, however, was, what Riddle was doing the entire time. How could someone sit all day doing nothing but writing? Did he have that many pen friends? Why write letters if you could literally teleport?

Harry turned back to the sky, annoyed. So many questions and no answers.

He had to admit. Part of his bad mood was because of two things.

Number One: Practicing Magic had been going dreadfully.

As in: he'd made no process.

He tried for an average of two hours a day. Sitting before his mirror and doing odd pushing movements with his hand.

It looked like he'd gone mad. But only because it didn't work. There wasn't a single spark of light. He'd said _Lumos_ in so many distinct voices - from evilly whispery all the way to joyful screaming.

"Honey, you have no style," his mirror told him plainly.

After that, Harry fled outside. Apparently he was stalked by a person locked in a mirror. He had so much material for a horror story.

_Stephen King could take a seat._

The second reason for his bad mood was the Walkman. It had stopped working abruptly yesterday, and even though Zisby had gotten him new batteries, it just wouldn't play anymore.

"It is being the magic, Master Harry," she told him. "It is dissonating with magnetical or electrical fields. Muggle batteries are not working well around magic. It is depending on how dense the magic is being. At places like Hogwarts, technology is impossible."

She'd looked at her feet at that. So Harry had sighed and counted the Walkman as another sacrifice of his abduction.

In the distance, Frank was working on the roses.

He was just another conundrum in this weird fairytale/horror story. He acted like a common grumpy grandpa. Whyever he still did such hard garden work at his age, Harry didn't know.

But then Frank rarely paid attention to anything around him and seemed permanently confused.

Harry needed some interaction now. Just someone to talk to and it wasn't going to be Riddle.

"Excuse me," he said and walked over to Frank. "Can I help with something? I'm very proficient ... in weeding."

Frank turned around and his eyes focussed slowly on Harry. He stood slightly stooped with a hand resting on his round back.

"Ey up, young man," he said. "You are welcome to try your luck with tha' over there." He cracked his neck. "The weed's impregnable like. The roots very deep. It's taking yonks like. Make sure you get all of it out, otherwise it will be back by tomorrow."

Harry nodded. He'd done this often enough. But the elderly didn't appreciate cheek, did they?

Harry observed Frank while he got to his knees and started digging. "Sir, how long have you've been working here?" he asked.

"Hah," the man coughed. "I've been here my whole life in this town. Only ever left it to get this." He pointed at his stiff leg. "During the war, I found a job here. Never left."

"World War Two?"

"You know of any others, doylem?" Frank barked.

Harry swallowed. He'd meant no disrespect, honestly. But World War Two just seemed so long ago to him. What was a doylem? Couldn't be anything good.

"You knew the former owners then?" he asked quickly.

"Sure did. Nasty people, they were like. Mr Riddle isn't much friendlier but at least he's not constantly on my back about the colour of the bloody hollyhock." Frank sighed deeply. "You haven't heard? One day, they all died mysteriously like."

"Who did?" The hollyhock?

" _The Riddle family_. Old Thomas Riddle and his wife Mary. And their good-for-nothing offspring."

"All did? On a single day?" Harry grunted as he pushed the shovel deeper into the soil. This weed was truly persistent.

"Well aye. They thought I had dunnit. But I'd just been doing my job in the gardens like every other day like. Even told them about tha' boy I'd seen. No point in murdering your employer during a war, is there? We were all starving already."

Harry nodded encouragingly.

"So were did Riddle come from then? Isn't he related to the people here somehow?"

"That good-for-nothing son Tom Riddle Sr ran off with that tramp Merope Gaunt sometime in 1925. Knocked her up, apparently. Showed up shortly after without her and claimed she was a _witch_ that had hexed him."

He shook his head.

"Like he could blame his indiscretion on her like. Who knows what led him, that girl wasn't pretty. It was a big scandal back in the day. All over the local news like. I was only a boy back then, but I remember my mother tittle-tattle about it. He never recovered, never married. He was good-looking but that was all - that Tom Riddle Sr."

Frank shrugged and groaned when he righted his back.

"Wait," Harry paused in his movements. "You don't believe in magic? That she was a witch?"

Frank looked at him like he'd gone mad.

"Of course, I don't believe in magic, doylem. Do I look like a superstitious fool to you?!"

Harry blinked.

"Zisby," he called and she popped up next to him. Harry was staring straight at Frank, who just blinked confused and then went back to his work as if nothing had happened.

"Can't he see you?" Harry whispered to Zisby.

"He cans see Zisby. He is just forgetting right after. This is one form of the Obliviate. Hard magic. It is partially because Master Tom isn't wanting to explain himself constantly. It is also being safer if the Garden Muggle isn't remembering everyone who is coming and going on the property."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He hadn't seen anyone here since the first morning after.

"Why is nobody coming here anymore?"

"The Master is having a different meeting place now. He's not wanting to use the house anymore with Master Harry here."

_Naturally._

"Zisby, do you know if Riddle is going out today?"

"In the evening," she said. He nodded and she popped away. Harry wondered how much work Riddle made the elves do. They were always in such a hurry. That couldn't be legal, could it? Where wizards such brutes?

"Sir, about those murders." Frank turned back. His eyes were still glassy, and he seemed dazed. Harry found this memory spell was very unethical. Wizards didn't seem to have many morals all-around.

"You gonna tell me I did it too?" Frank barked. Harry swallowed. "Mr Riddle at least is off my back. And just lets me work 'till I don't get up in the morning. It's been dreadful enough, this life." He shook his head and went back to watering his roses.

"No, Sir. Of course not. I was just wondering about that boy you saw. What did he look like?"

Frank paused and stared into the distance for a while. It took so long for him to answer that Harry almost thought he hadn't heard his question at all.

"He was tall, dark hair, pale skin like. Weird dark clothes. Young lad, not of age yet. But it was so long ago like. I coulda described him to the police that day but they didn't want to hear of it. They did not want any explanation like. Only the fact that they couldn't find the damn cause of death prevented me from going behind bars!"

He hadn't turned and Harry suddenly felt way out of his dept. He'd not planned on making Frank sad.

"Thank you for telling me," he said awkwardly and went back to weeding. They worked in silence for the rest of the afternoon.

+++

Tom tapped his fingers on his desk and continued staring at the clock. It was finally dark outside, and the full moon was up. He'd been so unproductive today. So much time spent just waiting.

Tom got to his feet and again rechecked the book in his tiny suit pocket which was extended by wizard space. Then he apparated outside and looked up at his house. All windows were dark except for Harry's whose was lit by soft candlelight. Tom couldn't see his silhouette, however.

He had decided that giving his husband some space - and especially letting him get attached to his house-elves and familiar - might be a good first step to get him to stay out of his own free will.

Looking back, Tom thought that he could have handled a few things better.

Maybe he could have found a way to form their bond without breaking Harry's trust.

But then again, he'd been running out of time. And well, Tom always found that when people knew him superficially, they liked him better.

Tom turned away from his house and apparated to the tree line of the nearby forest. There was a nice clearing he'd created a few months ago which would suit his purposes beautifully.

The forest itself was dark, many animals rustling in the bushes. The muggle news said that a depression was coming their way. Britain had been wonderfully dry in the last week, but the rain was coming, and it was coming to stay.

It might be the last clear full moon of the summer.

When Tom had reached the clearing, he first put-up wards to prevent animals from getting in the way. They also alerted him if any werewolves got too close.

Then he pulled out the book.

Soulmate magic was a mostly unexplored topic. It was so rare for soulmates to meet, and to recognise each other. _When You Suddenly Have Double Magic_ , was Helga Turpin's account of life with her soulmate. She was a Runes Mistress that had lived back in the 19th century.

Tom waved his hand, and the book opened to the page he had marked.

While this ritual itself was impressive, he was only doing it to prove that he could. That he had enough magic to crack the foundations of what was supposedly possible.

Tom put the book down onto the soft grass and breathed deeply. With his entire focus on his wand, he started the long chant of Latin.

Before the tip, the silvery light of the moon took on the shape of an ice crystal. Glittery, silvery swarths which curled around each other.

Moon magic was what werewolves were capable of. Magic drawing its energy from the light of the moon. It generally allowed werewolves to detect the next prey. A sort of enhanced vision on the full moon night.

This advantage, of course, also made them all the more dangerous to humans.

Tom had always wanted to know what that felt like - to have this omniscient view. To just know of everything happening on a large scale radius around himself, if only for a short time.

He weaved more and more moonlight into his ice crystal and let it rise over his head to the treetops.

_But the growth slowed._

Tom furrowed his brow and tried pushing harder, but the magic became less and less strong. He sped up his Latin chants, but nothing worked. He felt his own power drain away.

The crystal began to crumble. Tom blew out air.

There was no way around it. He had to prematurely say the ending words.

The magic came back crashing into him, and he was lit up with the awareness of all the life in the surrounding mile or so. But his calculations had shown that theoretically more should have been possible.

He should have gotten an imprint of at least double that. Frustrated Tom couldn't even enjoy the sensations of all the different species living in the forest. He couldn't even feel Harry since he was too far away.

When it was over, Tom stood in the darkness for many moments, just staring at nothing. Finally, he closed his eyes and unclenched his fingers from his wand.

There had to be an explanation. He would find it.

Again he picked up the book.

> _Louis is with me as I settle back down. I feel elated. The wonders of experience, the pleasure of just knowing - feeling the forest come to life around me. Our bond thrumbs beneath my skin. Such a beautiful, enlighting adventure._

Tom snorted. How could this woman do something he couldn't?

The bond, though. Tom listened inside. After the first few days, it had faded to the back of his mind. It was no longer present enough to distract his daily life.

" _Vinculum magicae revelare_ ," he said. Tom closed his eyes and let the spell take over. Seeing magic was a tricky thing. Magical Cores were invisible to human eyes. You needed to activate a sort of sixth sense - a magical sensor.

Finally, Tom could make out the orbs hovering next to each other. One looked like the setting sun but flickered to yellowish-white sometimes. Harry's. The sphere next to it looked mostly like the moon, silvery-white, but then it would flutter to a murky grey or pitch black for a few seconds. That was Tom's.

Tom stared at the two cores for a few seconds. It was interesting how, even if their magic was the same in its foundations - vibration frequency, power, heat etc. What they had done with it changed it to be almost complete opposites.

Harry had never used his core for more than the little bits of magic that were slipping through the block. It was full and young.

_Tom's, on the other hand, was decaying._

He smiled a bit sadly as he watched his own core change from silvery to grey. It looked a bit like the lung of a smoker. And Tom wasn't even truly at fault for this rot.

_He'd been too rash with Voldemort_. He sighed. And now he was paying the price.

Between the two cores was a strong link. Far bolder and greater than that of typical bonded-cores. And some of Tom's magic was leaking into Harry's core. And the other way around.

_At least that was working then_ , Tom thought cynically. It was why he was going through this bothersome situation, after all.

But the bond, while bold, was still far thinner than he had desired.

This was obviously the reason why his rite had failed. He could use all of his own magic, but Harry's had to crawl through this slim connection.

Tom stared at it for a few more seconds in concentration before opening his eyes.

His gaze fell back to the book. Lady Turpin didn't have this problem, so it had to be something unique to Harry's and Tom's relationship.

But what was that?

The truth was evident in retrospect. The bond had been formed through Sex Magic. Sex itself forced magic to merge.

Maybe the bond wasn't in its powerful state forever. Perhaps it was only that way for the time right after sex. Then the magic - slowly but steadily - separated - although it could never be cut completely like normal marriage bonds.

If Tom wanted to have the sort of bond he'd envisioned; the broad connection with the constant magic exchange, then he would have to seduce Harry back into his bed.

And he would have to keep him there in the future.

+++

Harry sat at his desk and stared at the two pictures.

The light of the candle hurt his eyes. It wasn't bright enough. Riddle and the elves used magical light and heating. When sneaking around, Harry had noticed a few remainders of formerly existing old electricity. He was just happy that the water somehow worked and hadn't been replaced by magical means.

In the 1943 Picture, Riddle looked a bit younger than in 1995, Harry decided.

But it was barely. Maybe a year or two. 95 was the true Riddle. He wrote these things onto some parchment snippets to keep track of his thought process. Why was he so concerned with the older one?

Was it truly so hard to believe that Riddle and his grandfather had just looked incredibly alike?

Harry sighed and buried his head in his hands. Riddle could hardly be immortal and age at the same time, could he?

Zisby appeared next to his desk, and Harry didn't even jump out of his chair. He considered himself well adapted to his new environment now.

"Master Tom has now left the house. Master Harry was saying that Zisby should be telling him when."

Harry nodded relieved. They could start with the magic practice now.

"How long have you known Riddle, Zisby?" he asked.

"Luppy and Zisby is being with Master Tom for two years now. We is being gifted to him at his graduation from the Durmstrang school." Harry bridged his nose with his fingers and turned to her.

"Zisby, I don't know a lot about the magical world - but you are your own being. Why does he own you? I don't understand."

Zisby folded her ears over her face.

"It is being the way of house-elves," she mumbled. Harry just looked at her, confused.

"But there's nothing natural about this. Everybody deserves to be paid for their work. Everyone should have the right for off days and breaks. You seem to have no free time at all."

"Luppy," Zisby called.

"Yes?" Luppy appeared.

"Master Harry is wanting to know about house-elves. Zisby is not being good at explaining such things." Luppy looked straight up at Harry. He seemed more seasoned and sturdy than Zisby. Less afraid somehow.

"Well, Master Harry. What is you wanting to know?" Harry quickly repeated his question.

"Well," Luppy hemmed quietly. "House-elves is needing to eat magical plants. Zisby was already telling you?" Harry nodded.

"You need to be understanding about magical plants, that they is only growing at places with a high concentration of magical energy. Like Hogwarts. Or wizarding homes.

"House-elves only is having access to magical plants through wizards and witches. Therefore we is having contracts with families. We need to be doing whatever the Master asks, and the Master is providing us with enough magical plants to live."

Harry stared at him, speechless.

"If these plants are something you need to survive and you cannot grow them yourselves, why isn't there trade for that? I mean that's what trade is for right? To get something you need, you cannot produce yourself. Humans have been doing that for centuries. Few people still grow their own food."

"We wouldn't be deserving the food, Master Harry," Luppy said. "We is borrowing the Master's magic, thought the plants. We is not having any magic of our own. We is being born dependent on the plants and wizards and witches."

Harry shook his head. It was a bit much. The way they looked at him as if this was completely okay and he just had to understand it. Harry's skin crawled at the very thought.

"Can I free you somehow?" he asked.

"Oh no, Master Harry," Zisby squeaked. "Freedom means shame and dependency. We is dying without the magical plants. In freedom, we is not getting them anywhere. Wizarding wards are strong. Other house-elves is tasked with keeping the shameful among us out."

Harry rubbed his hands over his face. He would just let this go now, but he would talk about this with Riddle. This was brainwashing at its finest. Harry forcefully exhaled all his pent up frustration.

"Okay," he said, somewhat awkwardly. "I wanted to talk to you about my magic. I don't know how to make it work."

Luppy pushed a little pair of glasses onto his large nose and looked Harry up and down.

"What is being the problem Master Harry is having?" he asked while he walked over to the books and followed the spines with a nobbly finger.

"Well," Harry swallowed. He didn't know how to explain this properly. "There's just nothing - coming?" He shook his head. That certainly wasn't it. "It's just – look," he awkwardly held a hand in front of himself and said, " _Lumos_." Of course, nothing happened. Who would have guessed?

Deep inside, Harry still wondered if he wasn't just mad and in some mental hospital talking to himself.

"Master Harry is needing to understand that magic is only working if you is believing in it. That is why the Muggleborns is needing to be integrated into wizarding culture young. Children is being naturally more perceptive and accepting of the 'supposedly' impossible."

Harry raised his eyebrows. Luppy had made a 180-degree turn and went into full lecture mode.

"You need to be telling him once he goes over the top, Master Harry," Zisby whispered. "Luppy was being the tutor house-elf of the young masters at our last house."

Harry nodded conspiratorily, but it was somehow funny to see Luppy in his element.

"You need to be understanding this is like those gymnastics muggles do. People is doing flips and is jumping from high places. That is not only needing the skill but also the belief that they will manage to complete it. Uncertainty, _fear_ is sabotaging the result."

Harry nodded. That made sense.

"Okay. So I don't really believe in myself. But how do I change that?" he asked.

"Is you remembering ever doing magic, Master Harry?"

"I've never done magic."

"Think hard. Something unusual happening around you, which is having no rational – muggle rational – explanation."

Harry scratched his head.

"Well," he coughed. "Sometimes, I get _really lucky_?" Was that magic? "Like when gambling with my friends and so."

Luppy righted his glasses and stared off thoughtful.

"But what is luck, Master Harry?" he said finally. "It is meaning you is wanting the result. Maybe you is changing things unconsciously."

Harry shrugged.

"But how would I do that?"

"It is how the little children is doing it. They is expecting for something to happen, and then they make it happen because they believe that it will. If you is frequently lucky, you is simply believing you are always lucky, and thereby magic is making you lucky."

Harry rubbed his eyes. That sounded very convoluted.

"So how do I get the _Lumos_ to work then?"

"Master Harry needs to be believing that it will work. Little Hogwarts students use words and wand movements to convince themselves that it will truly work. Later they is believing it without the words and can do it silently. It is just the wand they is dependent on."

Harry nodded. He just had to continue working on this. Maybe he would start with trying to make this 'luck' magic work. It seemed to be the only magic he'd ever done himself.

"You might also be asking master Tom for help," Zisby said. "He is being able to do magic without his wand."

Harry jerked.

"Oh no, Zisby. Is it possible that you don't tell Riddle that I am working on my magic?" Deep inside, Harry also thought that Riddle was somehow blocking his magic as he had said, and it was therefore not accessible.

"We is very restricted in what we cans and cannot do, Master Harry," Luppy said. "If Master Tom is asking what you was doing all day, we cans say that you is playing with your ball – because that is true.

"We can evade telling that you is also doing other things. If he is directly asking whether you is practising magic, we is needing to tell him yes. We cannot lie."

Luppy pulled a few tomes from the shelf. "These may be helping you," he said. Harry nodded and swallowed.

That was a lot of text.

And Harry wasn't good with learning from theoretical material. He was better at the practical stuff. He thanked the elves anyway, and they plopped away.

Eric had sometimes made fun of the fact that Harry just couldn't make sense out of the complicatedly formulated text. And of his comics - which were apparently only for the simple-minded. It had sort of put Harry off reading forever.

And now here lay pages over pages. And they were his only chance to fight back.

Harry settled down onto his bedding to start a bit of reading when he remembered the discussion with the elves.

Hastily he pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill. He still wasn't able to write with it properly, but there was nothing else.

> _Cons of the magical world:_
> 
> _\- Slavery is okay?_
> 
> _\- Kidnapping?_
> 
> _\- Weird magic blocks?_
> 
> _\- Mind Alternation (Mind-Reading) [What the fuck?]_
> 
> _Pros of the magical world:_
> 
> _\+ cool magic_
> 
> _+ ~~Luppy and Zisby~~ (shouldn't be in slavery!!)_
> 
> _+ ~~teleportation~~ (belongs to cool magic)_

The balance was off - if he could say so himself.

Harry looked down at the books again. Why was this so hard? Then he sighed and opened the first one.

A man's got to do, what a man's got to do.

+++

Tom got up early the next day, Monday, July 21st.

It was going to be his first day at work – or well, at his _apprenticeship_. Marchbank and himself had an intense pen correspondence over the last week. And it seemed that Tom had impressed her enough that she was willing to personally show him the ropes.

Tom hoped that she was also thinking about handing over the reins. But only persistence and continued good conduct would convince her.

Since Tom didn't have his fireplace connected to the Floo Network, he had to take the visitor's entrance through the public telephone. He called 62442 and again marvelled in how safe the wizardkind believed itself to be.

In Tom's opinion, muggles had been dangerous already during the forties. He'd seen bombs being thrown on London and wrecking it beyond recognition. He shook his head. Had they not heard of atomic bombs?

Whatever.

The ministry itself was grand as always. The dark tiles and blue ceiling. The brainwashing statue which tried to tell wizards they were on top and everyone willingly accepted them as such.

Tom shook his head. And they tried to call Voldemort a monster as if they weren't nearly as bad themselves.

Quickly he made it into the elevator and pressed the second button for Magical Law Enforcement. In the mirror, he awkwardly stared at the pin clipped to his clothes. _Magical Law Trainee_ , it said.

Tom smiled at the young woman eyeing him up and down with a frown. She blushed and looked the other way.

That's what the wizarding world was like. It was so small that everyone always thought they had to know everyone else.

When Tom got off on Level 2, he was greeted with Fudge and his little entourage of secretaries.

"Ah, you were just what I was searching for," the minister said, and Tom looked up only to discover Fudge's finger pointing directly at him.

He blinked, confused and searched the other eyes. A woman with Indian ancestry first licked her lips, made a cutting motion with her finger below her waist, and then looked at him with pleading eyes.

Crouch.

Even Tom got confused with him sometimes.

Apparently, Fudge hadn't needed any reply.

"Come with," he said, making a gesture for Tom to get back on the elevator.

"I've got places to be … Sir," Tom forced out between his teeth. Being late for Marchbanks would surely disadvantage him. He'd even come thirty minutes early.

But Fudge just shook his head as if he couldn't believe there was anything more important than his task.

"Get on, young man. I'm not asking twice. You're barely out of your nappies. You just do what you're told by your betters!"

Tom looked at him quietly for many seconds. He ignored the embarrassing shifting of Fudge's entourage and Crouch's scared glances.

"Very well," he said finally and stepped back inside the elevator. Antagonising the minister of magic on his first day wouldn't help him either. Tom was used to people treating him with disrespect, this was hardly the first time.

They would regret pissing him off in the future. But right now, he was playing nice. Had to.

"Whatever can I do for you, Sir?" he asked as they moved downwards.

"I need a scribe," Fudge grunted his body turned away from the lowly trainee he'd acquired.

Tom nearly sneered. Of course. A scribe.

They made their way into Courtroom 10 on Level 9, the Wizengamot entrance, where a small group of wizards and witches was assembled. They wore the light violet colours of the Magical Law Enforcement.

Among them Amelia Bones.

"Cornelius," Bones said and looked up at the minister from her seat at the edge of the stands. "To what do I owe the pleasure? This isn't a full Wizengamot trial but merely a hearing with the accused and his lawyer." She glanced at Tom, but she said nothing.

"Consider it a routine inspection, Madam Bones," said a frog-like pink woman among the minister's secretaries. Whyever he didn't just make one of them scribe since they didn't seem to be doing much else, Tom didn't understand.

Tom had read about the toad-woman in Crouch's reports.

Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary.

According to Crouch, her identity was easily stolen, since she didn't seem to notice if there was something odd with her memories. She was intensely disliked, so people generally avoided talking to her, and well, the minster favoured her since she showed him a sort of hero-worship.

Fudge himself kept contact with her to a minimum as well.

Tom's respect for Bones grew when she didn't show her displeasure like the rest of her court, and merely emptied her seat and handed it over to the minster without another word.

It was like she simply entertained the minister's childishness.

"Then we can proceed," she said. "We _have_ a scribe. You may send yours away." She pointed at a red-headed young man, then looked directly at Tom.

"No, thank you," Umbridge said in her high voice. "We prefer to have our independent records." Tom silently thanked Bones for the attempt and sat down in a seat off to the side. Bones send off a memo then gestured for two Aurors to enter the prisoner.

"We hereby start with the proceedings." Tom looked at the room more closely. There was an incredible number of Aurors present. Standing down in the questioning room in their red robes.

It was almost like they were all waiting for something to happen.

The mystery cleared when it was _The Sirius Black_ who entered the courtroom. Tom remembered him being all over the British News in 1993/4.

"We've come together for this hearing today to collect the evidence in the form of questioning under Veritaserum. You've been informed on your rights, Mr Black?"

He nodded.

"You can request the antidote at any time. You lawyer, Lord Greengrass and I will be the only ones allowed to ask questions. Everyone else will be placed under a silence bubble. We will then offer our memories at your trial as evidence. This way the questioning takes place under more controlled circumstances."

Black nodded.

He looked ragged like he'd slept outside for the last few years.

Crouch had told Tom that they'd caught him, but he hadn't been interested in following the story. As far as Tom knew Black had been in and out of ministry holding cells for the last two months. His public trial was set to end on October 31st - cause the ministry was so witty.

And needed positive publicity.

Black was pushed into the chair by two Aurors who shackled him to it. Then his head was forced back, and the Drops were dripped down his throat. Tom understood Black's hateful eyes.

He wouldn't be all that comfortable himself.

"Day 1: Questioning of Sirius Black," Bones read and Tom took the parchments the court scribe, Weasley, handed to him. "We will begin with doses of Veritaserum every three minutes. This questioning session will not last longer than a total of fifteen minutes because of the accused's physical condition. Followup questions will commence in no less than five days."

With that, she got up and pulled out a scroll.

"Firstly - "

"Have you betrayed Lily and James Potter to You-Know-Who?" Fudge yelled. He'd gotten to his feet as well and walked a few foot forwards to be outside the silencing bubble.

"No," left Black's throat. "Peter Pettigrew betrayed them." Tom wrote all that down, all the while looking at Bones and Fudge from under his eyelids. Whoever had thought that man would be a good head of state must have taken some drugs.

Black was handed the antidote by his lawyer and Bones turned back to Fudge.

"Minister, you cannot violate court protocol! All evidence collected via violation will become unusable for the official trial. We haven't even properly started yet, and the Wizengamot might call a Mistrial already!"

That woman had power.

Tom looked down at Black. _Pettigrew_ , he had said. That was interesting. Tom truly hadn't paid attention to an escaped convict back in 93. He had other problems at the time.

And a Death Eater on the run was hardly useful to him.

But now he remembered. Sirius Black. The Potter's Secret Keeper and _his husband's godfather._

"How dare you talk to the minister like that," Umbridge said and hit her own pink gavel on the table.

_They were all clowns._

Tom continued writing down this ridiculous debate.

"You either stay behind the silence bubble, and leave the questioning to Lord Greengrass and myself, or I must ask you to _leave the courtroom_." Bones' eyes were pure steel.

Fudge looked around as if asking for support. But even his own entourage, except for Umbridge, had lowered their eyes.

Finally, he wrinkled his mouth and nose like a child and returned to his place.

"Well then, let's proceed." Black was administered the Serum again, and the questioning commenced.

It was fairly evident that unless Black was a Master Occlumens, he was innocent. Lord Greengrass got him to reveal all about the Secret Keeper Exchange, and finally Black even started crying. Which gave him many pity points among the present people.

Tom wondered whether he knew that Harry was alive.

The fifteen minutes were over very fast, and Black was brought back to his cell below Level 10. His lawyer stayed behind, however.

"I still say - give him the Kiss and be done with it," Fudge broke the quiet of scratching quills. Tom looked up to see many shocked faces turned their way.

"As you've seen, Cornelius, Sirius Black was never given a trial, and it is now deeply uncertain whether or not he is guilty," Bones said very slowly.

"We would be rid of the problem, wouldn't we?"

Umbridge nodded enthusiastically when he turned to her.

"True, true, minister," she said. "He is fooling us all. There is no evidence for his innocence other than his own words. He could tell uns anything."

Tom tapped his quill on the parchment.

Was there no real evidence? He still knew where he had deposited Pettigrew's body. A good healer team could certainly determine that he'd died a week and not nearly sixteen years ago.

"The law says that we will hold a trial and present all the evidence to the Wizengamot who will then decide on the verdict." With that, Bones pulled together her team, and they left the courtroom.

Tom handed over his own notes to Crouch and got up to leave.

"Where are you going, young man?" Fudge said, and the quill in Tom's hand snapped. Crouch flinched. The others looked a bit startled.

"Oh sorry," Tom said. "You surprised me. What can I do? Ms Marchbanks is waiting for me."

"And a Wizengamot Elder is more important than _the Minster himself_?" Umbridge spit. Tom just smiled at her.

"I also wish for a few words with this young man," Lord Greengrass said. "It is very urgent. If you wish to speak to me, you're welcome to reach me in my office." With that, Greengrass put a hand on Tom's back and pushed him into the direction of the door.

"Sorry," he said once they were outside. "But with them, it's easier to just walk out. They will otherwise take up all of your time out of pure boredom. Frank Greengrass, by the way. You've spoken to my wife, Jane."

"Yes," Tom shook the hand he was offered. "Tom Riddle."

"I've heard," he winked at Tom. "My wife cannot stop for five seconds, telling me about the new acquaintance she's made. Someone who truly has met and bonded his own soulmate." He smiled, amused. "I love her, but she's a bit much sometimes."

"No bother," Tom said, but Greengrass wasn't finished.

"I also cannot deny her anything. She's planned a birthday party for our oldest daughter Daphne, and she really wanted me to invite you in person.

"It's her coming-of-age party so it will be rather grand. Many guests! It will be held on Saturday, August 2nd. She really wants to learn more about yourself and your spouse."

Tom felt a bit put on the spot.

At the same time, Greengrass was just like Nott - one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Good relations to both Dark and Light Families. They were too good a networking opportunity to pass up.

"Of course, we will love to come. Harry is sick at the moment, which is why he hasn't joined me until now. If he is better by August, we will surely be there."

"Wonderful," Greengrass said and patted him on the back. "Jane certainly has already sent you an official invitation. Just let us know in time. You know how Ladies and their seating arrangements are."

Lord Greengrass winked again and walked off.

Tom sighed. There was this mountain of things now depending on Harry. And he was still a bit unsure how to compromise with him.

He needed to figure out what Harry truly wanted and then haggle with it as if his life depended on it.

_His future certainly did._

When Tom reached Marchbanks' office, back up on Level 2, she wasn't there. The door was unlocked, however, so Tom let himself in and sat down in the visitor's seat.

Marchbanks came back ten minutes later, a steaming cup of tea and two gigantic pieces of cake floating along behind her.

"Oh Tom," she said and smiled at him. "There you are. Amelia send me a memo to tell me all about you getting caught by our annoying minister. He's not always been this terrible. But he's deteriorating ever since being reelected this year." She shook her head.

"He now feels like the king of this place. Oh, how I hoped Dumbledore would just take over. Or Rufus had won his candidacy. But somehow Cornelius seems to represent the peaceful times for many of the wizarding public. Most of them never had to personally meet him either."

She sipped her tea with poise. Tom tried to unclasp his fist from his trousers. Dumbledore's name always triggered a reaction.

"Whatever," Marchbanks scooped up some cake. "That man's days are numbered. He's only still in power because while he believes to be in control, he's nothing more than a puppet for the rich."

In the end, Tom received a few worthwhile tasks and was invited to the next few big Wizengamot trials. Marchbanks said that exposure was the most important. Experience.

"And if you want to impress Amelia, don't let yourself be pushed around too much. She appreciates the people who can think and stand up for themselves. That girl would run this place by herself if someone let her."

When he arrived home in the light of the sundown, he found Harry again juggling on his front lawn. And then it hit him.

_Football._ And there had to be others.

"Zisby," he called.

"Yes, Master Tom."

"I want you to tell me about Harry's hobbies. What has he said about football? What other things does he like?"

He would now start wooing his husband - for real.

Harry's 17th birthday was coming up too, and he would receive a few big birthday presents. Birthday presents with conditions, true, but a bit of compromise was what marriage was all about, right?

Tom smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that there were no Harry/Tom interactions in this chapter. There will be a lot of that in the next one.^^  
> And I feel like I'm throwing around random world-building. I hope it's still interesting ;)


	5. Seduction is an Art Form

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets presents.

"It's that one," Harry said and pointed at the cup on Zisby's right-hand side.

Zisby lifted it, and indeed the stone was there.

"You is doing it, Master Harry," she said with a smile. "It is being in the centre one before."

Harry grinned back. In a way, this was the best birthday present ever.

When Zisby popped away, he gazed out into the cloudy sky. After the last week of constant down-pour, it was the first sign of better weather. He had again taken to practising in his room—or well in the big dining room with the high ceiling.

The good thing was that Riddle generally wasn't around. Zisby had disposed quietly of the fancy vase he'd taken off the shelf. And Harry still hoped that would stay undiscovered. That vase must have been worth more than his life.

But he still missed the outdoors. Zisby got very unhappy whenever he was out practising in the rain. It was odd having someone worry about his health.

Harry had a few decks of cards and a set of three cups lined up on his desk. At St. Brutus, Travis had always been eager to play 'the Shell game'. He'd bragged about how he used it to cheat random people out of their money on the streets.

He'd never been able to cheat Harry. Not because of a lack of trying, however.

In the last week, Harry had rediscovered himself. First, he had only managed to draw excellent cards during Poker. Now he could disappear the stone into a chosen cup, even when not knowing where it was before.

Of course, he'd known how to do all that _previously_ , but now he had his confidence back. He still couldn't get _Lumos_ to work though.

But it was only a matter of time.

Sometimes he'd used to wonder why his friends were still gambling with him. Some people were lucky, and then there was Harry—who always won. It was especially odd with games like the Shell game, which were made to be rigid and cheat the players out of all they were worth.

Then Harry had discovered that it was their way of just giving him stuff for free. He'd refused to play for a while; but then Travis had wagered that Walkman. And Harry couldn't refuse.

" _Here you are, nestmate,"_ Nagini said, as she slithered through the doorway and right into his bed beneath his covers.

 _"Where else was I supposed to be?"_ he asked.

_"Maybe at the feast, downstairs? There is so much two-legger food."_

_"Is there someone coming today?"_

_"I have not smelled any other two-leggers around. Master is also in a very odd mood. I think he's ordered the pointy-ears not to tell you - but well, he can hardly order me to do anything."_

_"So what's he planning?"_ Harry sat down heavily on the bed and petted Nagini, just to make her tell him faster. She wouldn't have come up here with such juicy news, as she liked to call it, and then leave him hanging.

 _"I believe he's organising the feast for you. As a surprise."_ She curled her tail end around Harry's waist and put her head on his lap.

 _"A surprise?"_ That sounded very suspicious. _"Why surprise me with a feast?"_

_"Isn't it your hatchday today?"_

Harry's eyebrows only climbed higher. He'd seen suspiciously little of Riddle in the last week. But Zisby had said, it was because he was working at the Ministry of Magic now, or something. And Harry had just been glad to avoid conversation and accepted that.

"Master Harry?" Luppy asked. Harry turned to where he stood in the door frame. "Master Tom is asking if you is wanting to join him for supper?"

Harry was split between annoyance and curiosity - but finally the latter won. He uncurled a grumpy Nagini from his body and followed Luppy downstairs.

The little living room where Riddle and he had eaten supper on Harry's first night, was decorated with candles and little fires hanging in mid-air. Another table had been entered into the room, and a buffet of all his favourite foods was lined up. There were Treacle Tart and French onion soup, lot's of bread and apple pie. Again a large, expensive red wine stood on the table.

The eyecatcher, however, was a large pile of presents, wrapped in different kinds of colourful paper, stacked before the fireplace.

"What is this?" Harry asked because it couldn't be what he thought it was, right?

"Happy Birthday," Riddle said with curled lips.

Harry snorted. If this was a birthday party, it was the first one ever, to actually take place on his birthday. And that was such an odd 'first' to have with Riddle.

Usually, John, Travis and he stole out of school shortly after the start of term. Someone smuggled some booze from home, and then they'd get drunk in the fields surrounding St. Brutus and scream into the night sky. Well, that's what they'd done ever since his fourteenth birthday anyway.

Harry had always found it pretty cool.

This, however, was something else altogether.

"Birthday?" he asked again because it just didn't register in his brain.

"Yes," Riddle made a hand gesture, and the chair in front of Harry slid back invitingly. Harry still stood there frozen. "Come on, Harry. I think we should start over properly. I don't want to live the rest of my life with a stranger."

_Oh, wasn't he just fucking ridiculous?_

"Well, living with a stranger seems better than with a _jailer_." Harry let himself fall into the seat opposite Riddle, and crossed his arms.

"Oh, come on. As if life here is worse than at your relatives." Riddle picked up his glass and let the wine twirl.

Harry tsked. "Those are some low standards you're trying to meet here."

Riddle pointed to the buffet. "Get yourself some food. Relax. ... Please?"

There was silence for a while, then Riddle's smile disappeared, and he leaned forwards supporting his chin on his crossed hands.

"I think we need to compromise in this situation. You need something from me, and I need something from you. Why not help each other out?"

Harry waited. As far as the questioning session had revealed, all that Riddle wanted from him, was to stay alive so he could parasite of his magic. Or warm his bed. Both very objective purposes, if he could say so – and Harry sure as fuck wasn't an object.

"I've gotten you a few presents – as an apology." Harry raised his eyebrows and gestured for him to continue. There wasn't anything he wanted right now, nothing material anyway. But sure.

When Riddle did nothing but glance at the wrapped packages, Harry got up and walked over to them. He'd only ever seen Dudley get this many presents before. Usually, his were either alcohol or some vouchers from his friends. The Dursleys might gift him a day without chores if they were lenient.

Without preamble, Harry ripped the first package. What he found was ... a radio. But it wasn't a radio. It had different antennas and no speakers.

"What's this?"

Riddle turned his head, still relaxed, sipping on his wine.

"It's a magical radio. Zisby informed me that you lost your other source of noise."

Harry blinked. That was oddly ... attentive. He turned on the button, and the sound cracked to life. An oddly cheerful voice started yelling.

"And here we have Gilderoy Lockhart. Heartthrob, and recently retired world traveller." There was fake screaming of women in the background. Harry changed the channel quickly.

> Will you meet me in the dark,
> 
> Follow me to Deeenmark,

Harry shuddered. That had been someone called Celestina Warbeck. He twisted again and again. Finally, he found a channel which blasted Queen. Bohemian Rhapsody was his fourteen-year-old self's anthem. He turned the sound low and focussed on the other presents.

Over the next half hour, Harry had great fun ripping paper. Maybe he was basic, but all his presents were thoughtful in a way. He shook his head. Riddle most likely had only asked Zisby who knew him reasonably well at this point. But getting presents, you actually wanted, was great anyway.

Among them were: the 1994 world cup football, new football shoes and tricots of several world-class players. He found all of 2Pac's Albums and a record player. Harry wondered how long that one would last if non-magical items had problems in a magical climate.

There was a broom among the pile as well and Harry spent many minutes just reading the user manual. That this thing was supposed to fly still seemed odd to him.

Finally, he returned to the table and found Riddle's calculated gaze on him.

"So what do you want?" Harry asked. While all these presents were nice, they didn't compare to his freedom.

"I want you to swear a vow not to reveal anything about the true start and the true nature of our relationship. I want to take you to a party of an influential family in the British magical community."

"A vow?"

"Yes. A vow." 

"Zisby?" Harry asked. "Can you get me that book on vows from my room?" She appeared moments later with the requested book. Harry opened it and went through the pages. 

"You can forget that I swear something like an Unbreakable Vow for you," he said after a few seconds. Fuck dying.

Harry was socially starved, though, and any chance of interaction with others seemed like an improvement to his situation even if they were more magical weirdos.

Harry still thought that theoretically getting himself help, should be his first thought. But then this summer hadn't really been worse than usual. His fitness had undoubtedly improved even if it was stupid to run circles around the front lawn.

"I was thinking of a vow on our magic," Riddle said.

"And all these gifts are your entry? I don't think it's enough." Harry got to his feet. "I will return in a few hours with my demands. And I will read up on this vow. Then we can talk."

+++

" _You're an idiot,"_ Nagini told Tom when she slithered into the small room after Harry had left.

Tom sneered at her and swallowed more of his wine. It was true - that could have gone better. But if he was honest, he was excited whenever Harry pushed back. Some part inside of him had woken up and decided that having another person to live with wasn't all that bad.

And Harry was faring well, for the enormous disadvantage he had. Deep inside, Tom wanted someone who wouldn't shrink back from his true personality.

An equal.

" _Why am I an idiot?"_ he asked Nagini.

" _Because you understand nothing of mating."_ She curled up beneath the wrapping paper before the fireplace. Tom shook his head and got himself some food. He'd seen Zisby bring a big plate upstairs to Harry, so he supposed the buffet had been welcome.

" _Like you know more than me. You're an old maid."_

She hissed at him. "I _may be past my_ prime." That was pure indignation. _"But I used my youth when I had it. Mateships are built upon trust. Giving and taking. But you need to give without conditions. Your mate needs to think that you give purely because you want them happy. And I have learned that two-leggers are less interested in material things than snakes are. Sharing mice is also a portrayal of great hunting skill. You can buy everything with those shiny coins. It's not impressive!"_

Tom gazed into his glass.

" _He was happy about the presents,"_ he said finally.

" _Well, sure. But you cannot buy his heart. If you want him to like you, you actually need to spend time with him. And at that in a space, he feels confident. This is your den. He never has the advantage here."_

Tom pressed his lips together and sipped more wine.

" _You need to give him back some control. Every being needs some stable footing in order to stand. And you threw him into cold water and then watched him drown."_ She shuddered. _"You need to give up some of your advantages."_

It was true, Tom knew. It was annoying that what he wanted from Harry, and what he needed from him, contradicted itself. If he gave him more freedom, Harry made Tom vulnerable to the world. If Tom didn't get his relationship with Harry figured out, he would slowly decay just like Voldemort had. And also lose the little integrity he might have won with his new contacts.

" _I'll take your thoughts into account,"_ he hissed finally and waited for Harry to return.

He did. A good two hours later. In his hands, he held the book on vows and a list of words in his blotchy writing.

"So," Harry coughed, and Tom leaned back and just waited in silence. "I want us to do time deals. I will swear to go to your party and not tell anyone that you've kidnapped me. And in return I want you to vow that you won't block my magic for the next week. I also want you to give Zisby and Luppy less work to do and a minimum of one free day where they can do whatever they want. Without any disadvantages."

He lowered the paper, and Tom nearly smiled into his fist at the quiet determination in Harry's eyes.

"I also want to keep all the presents," he mumbled finally.

Tom crossed his legs and asked Harry to sit back down. He took the parchment from him and made a great show out of examining the few bullet points while trying to not twitch at the many spelling mistakes.

"I think that may be a proposal I can get behind. Luppy and Zisby cannot have their off-day on the same day, however. The first time-frame is for the next week?"

Harry swallowed and nodded. He looked down at his hands.

"Okay, well. Then let's do this." Tom pulled out his wand.

+++

Greengrass Manor was a large white house with two turrets on either side. Just like Malfoy Manor, many acres of surrounding land belonged to the family, and the next closest community was a muggle village a few miles away. 

Lord Greengrass was one of three defence lawyers that managed the wizarding world among themselves. They were expensive, so not everyone could purchase them. Wizarding law didn't grant everyone the right to a defence attorney. Usually, the Wizengamot was simply the judge, solicitor and prosecutor in one body. 

The real money of the family came from Lady Greengrass however, who'd built herself an empire with her fashion line. Her secret was that she didn't only target the British market but wizarding communities all around the world with her fashion.

Tom had, therefore, been very specific in his and Harry's clothing choices. He had wanted green to stimulate Slytherin sentimentality. He'd, however, chosen white embroidery and sun symbols which naturally created some balance again.

Their clothes also matched for obvious reasons. He would milk this soulmate goodwill to the last drop.

Harry was sadly not pulling it off well. He looked down at his outfit in disdain.

"Pull yourself together. This is important," Tom hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

"I'm trying! Fuck you. This bloody hat constantly slips over my eyes. I feel like a clown." Tom rolled his eyes and then forced himself to relax. He had to get this under control.

"I still don't understand what you want to tell them," Harry said. "I don't know shit about the magical world. What do you want me to do?"

"Just leave that to me." Tom smiled at Jane Greengrass as she came towards them.

"Mr Riddle. How wonderful. And your spouse. Nice to meet you too." She grinned at Harry and held out her hand. Tom gave him a subtle glare and bent over to kiss above the skin. Harry copied him without much grace, but Tom hoped that Lady Greengrass would find that charming and not insulting.

Sometimes it was the little things.

"You're both so young," she gushed. "Is it true what they say about soulmates then? Passion comes first - everything else must queue behind."

Harry frowned, but Tom smiled bashfully.

"You are sadly correct, Lady Greengrass. We didn't even have a ceremony. I only met Harry a few weeks ago. But I suppose that's just how it is. He's still new to our world. Somehow he slipped through Hogwarts' cracks. And please call me Tom." 

Tom noticed her draw her eyebrows together in confusion.

"Sadly there was no letter for a Harry Potter on his eleventh birthday," he continued. "He's Daphne's age. They might have been friends."

At that, she froze and blinked at him owlishly. 

"Harry Potter, you say." She turned back to Harry and looked at him more seriously. "There should have been a Harry Potter in Daphne's year. But he's said to have died at one year old. Together with his parents."

Harry was moving from one foot to the other. He had his face turned to the floor, so Tom didn't know what he was thinking.

"And please call me Jane, Tom. Do you both not have any family?"

"Well, no. Harry is an orphan too. He grew up with his muggle aunt and uncle." Jane's face fell. Quickly she gestured for them to follow behind her. 

Tom was sure that Harry's identity wouldn't stay secret for long.

They would see how Dumbledore reacted to this.

Jane led them through the garden.

"There are many people around you might want to speak to, Tom. Mr Fudge is here, and Mr Scrimgour the Head Auror. Then there is Cedric Diggory over there. He won the Triwizard Tournament two years back. You must have heard of him before."

"Oh, I have. He's my age, isn't he? I know Victor Krum quite well. I decided to focus on my studies instead of coming to Hogwarts myself. And having Victor as our champion was about as good as we could do."

"You did everything right, Tom. I was just glad that my daughters weren't old enough to take part. Daphne's got a pigheaded mind. And Astoria - don't even get me started on her heroine fantasies. She still has posters of Fleur Delacour on her walls."

Tom nodded along. Nowadays, he thought that a Triwizard victory might have suited him well. But back in 1994, he'd still wanted to keep Dumbledore in the Dark about his return. But Dumbledore had known anyhow - so it had all been for nothing.

Krum had been horrible after his return. Being separated from his Hermione had somehow vanished all his brain cells. As if Tom had ever needed a reminder that love hormones were the worst evil in the world. 

"Daphne, dear," Jane said. A group of girls broke apart, to allow them into their group. "This is Tom Riddle and his spouse Harry Potter. They are both new to the British Community. Would you do a few introductions? Harry is your age, dear. Excuse me, Tom," she smiled at him. "Hosting sadly includes a lot of running around and little time to chat."

"I'm sure we might find a different opportunity?"

"I would love that." She winked and flowed away.

Daphne herself went through quite a few expressions during the introductions. First, she'd pressed her lips together, but then she seemed more open. Tom glanced around and spotted Scrimgeour at the refreshment table.

He pulled Harry closer at the hip and pressed a kiss to his temple. Then he retreated before he could react.

"I still have to talk to a few people. Can I leave Harry with you lovely ladies for a short minute?" Daphne shrugged but pulled Harry into a conversation. Tom smiled at them before making his way over to the head Auror.

+++

"So, are you dear Mr Riddle's accessory?" Daphne asked Harry when the other three girls had left them. Harry felt a bit out of his depth. Girls were creatures he'd not had a lot of contact with in his life. The only girl he'd ever talked to at length was John's girlfriend, and she'd been drunk as hell.

"Accessory?" he asked, confused.

"His flagship-soulmate. Someone he can show around, to seem competent and older than he is. Someone sophisticated. He seems to have ambitions. You give him integrity." She shrugged. 

Harry was unsure whether he was supposed to feel insulted. But then he reminded himself that his life wasn't any of a stranger's business.

"That's just never going to be me," Daphne continued and crossed her arms looking around the garden like future husbands could lurk anywhere.

"You're never getting married?"

She shuddered. Harry found her to be a collection of contradictions. She looked like those blond Barbie dolls, all the way from her feet to her peroxide blond hair. Her personality was very different, however.

"That's what this party is for, don't you know?" She rolled her eyes. "I'm already of age now. My mother pressed me out of her womb right after she finished her apprenticeship. She was ... twenty-one. She married my father when she was fresh out of school." Harry raised his eyebrows. So that was why nobody had asked concerned questions why Harry was 'married' at seventeen.

"So why not just tell her you don't want to?" he asked. "Your mom seems like a woman who would understand."

Daphne laughed listlessly.

"She wants us to have a position in society. To marry someone of status. That's why she's been pushing Astoria Draco's way ever since she realised that he and I just don't see eye to eye." She shook her head. "It's just all bachelors here. When I first saw you and Mr Riddle, I thought you were just another two looking for a bride to show off. I want more. And I sure as fuck don't want anyone touching me."

Harry turned to her. He could somewhat relate to the sentiment. Feeling misunderstood in your world and pressed into a position wasn't nice.

Daphne took his hand and pulled him off into the direction of a bench with a clear view of a pond in the middle of the garden.

"Usually we are supposed to meet our spouses in school – you know. It's the only place you ever meet so many people your own age. But - "she looked up at him. "But I just don't want anyone." She wrung her hands. "I'm so sorry, by the way, to just blow off steam with you." She coughed. "Nobody understands. Pansy is in love with Anthony Goldstein, who she will marry. Astoria has been crushing on Draco since forever. Tracy is from a chill family, and her mother would even love her if she married a muggle. I feel so out of the hoop."

She looked at him for many seconds, then blinked and turned to look at the lake.

Harry had only heard of situations like this. Had he somehow been promoted to advise guru in the last weeks? Maybe it wasn't a myth then that getting 'married' gave one integrity.

"I think you should do whatever you want to," he said finally. "I think we all change our mind many times throughout our life. Nobody should be able to force you into a marriage."

The humour in this situation wasn't lost on him.

He grimaced at the floor. "I was also thrust into a world I don't understand, and everyone suddenly knows more about me than I do."

Daphne blushed.

"I'm really sorry to just throw all that at you. I just feel that you seem to be the only person other than me who has no ulterior motive to be here at my party." She smiled. "Harry Potter hmm, I've only ever heard stories about the Potters."

"Do you mind telling me? I suppose this is an odd thing to say – but I believed my parents died in a car crash. I'm just trying to keep up at the moment."

_Understatement._

And so Daphne told him quite the tale about how his parents were part of a secret resistance against an evil dark lord. Harry had to remind himself to close his mouth once in a while.

"And how was he vanquished?" Harry asked. "I mean. My family died, right?"

"I don't know, honestly. Most is speculation. I mean, I also thought that you died. If you are you?" She narrowed her eyes.

Harry lifted his hands in surrender. "I don't know either. My name's just Harry Potter. There might be more people with that name."

They looked up to see Lady Greengrass and a group of men strolling over to them.

"I'll mail you some material I still have from my studies regarding the topic," Daphne told him quickly. She sighed and got up.

"I would love that."

Harry's eyes fell on a man who he believed to have seen before. He had ink-black, chin-length hair, which looked a bit greasy. A huge nose sat in his face. One of Riddle's minions, wasn't he?

Instead of going with Daphne, her mother and the rest, however, the man remained standing with Harry.

"Did Riddle send you?" Harry asked. He crossed his arms. "I don't need a babysitter."

"That's not it … Mr Potter," the man said. "I was instructed to give this ... to you." With a dramatic hand gesture, he pulled a piece of fabric from his black robes.

Harry just stared at him silently.

_The man did know that that was a sock, right?_

"By whom?" he asked finally. Riddle might have odd humour - but this wasn't it.

"The headmaster of Hogwarts. Keep it with you at all times and _be prepared_." Then man pressed the sock into Harry's lush hands. With an impressive sweep of his robes, he turned around and stalked away. 

Harry looked at the sock for many seconds. It was thick, as if for a cold winter night, and seemed to have all colours of the rainbow worked into it.

It said a lot about his life recently that this didn't calcify as the weirdest thing to happen to him. With a shrug, Harry pushed the sock into his pocket and stalked back to the tables to find Riddle.

He met many people that night whose names he wouldn't remember in the morning. People who often stared at him blankly when he answered their questions.

"I want to be a football coach!" for example magicked nothing but question marks into their eyes.

When Harry got home, he had many things to think about.

This war, which had supposedly happened when he was a baby. A war, his parents had died in. The sock. A new friendship? Daphne had already sent him three big tomes.

Just so much to learn.

Harry didn't sleep well that night.

+++

The next morning Tom stared into the mirror for a very long time. He found the blue scarf of Chelsea distasteful, but if one must, one must. Manchester United's red would have been worse.

"Is Harry awake yet?" he asked Zisby who was cleaning his study.

"I believe he is being awake, Master Tom. He is reading up in his room."

Tom raised his eyebrows. As far as Luppy and Zisby had told him, Harry rarely touched his books. 

"Go tell him, that I want to have brunch together," Tom said. He found that they might as well get used to sharing a meal. Breakfast on the weekend and dinner every day were an excellent place to start.

Tom already sat at his place at their dining table when Harry arrived. He was wearing one of his sports outfits again, rejecting the entirety of Tom's wardrobe for baggy T-Shirts. Tom really should take him to Diagon Alley this week – or a muggle shopping centre. Maybe he could convince him into formfitting pants if he hadn't worn them before.

Harry paused in the doorframe and simply stared at Tom – and well his fantastic scarf – for many moments, before finally entering the room and letting himself fall into the seat opposite Tom.

"What are you playing at?" he asked. 

"Nothing. Can't I enjoy a simple brunch with my husband?"

"No – nothing is simple with you. Or enjoyable." Tom pretended he didn't hear that and called Zisby to bring them their breakfast. It was Luppy's off-day today, but Tom highly suspected that he lurked around just in case he was needed after all.

Tom quietly began eating, trying to remember how Smalltalk worked again.

"How was your morning?" he asked finally.

Harry narrowed his eyes as he swallowed around his fork.

"It was interesting. I only learned yesterday how my parents died and all. There are ten books up there with conspiracy theories how my family vanquished a wizard Hitler."

"I see," Tom said, chewing. As it turned out, talking to someone without an ulterior motive wasn't his strength.

"So," he said finally after many awkward minutes of silence. "I want to take you here." He slit a blank envelope over the tabletop to Harry.

"Another garden party?" Harry opened the envelope anyway and froze. Tom smiled into his black tea.

"That's why-" Harry stared at his scarf. "No way. How'd you even get tickets for this?" Tom shrugged. No way Harry would ethically approve of.

"Manchester United vs. Chelsea." Harry just kept staring. "Premier League."

"So, are you on board?" Tom asked.

Jackpot!

+++

Of course, Harry was on board. 

Who wouldn't be? Harry would also watch the Premier League if he had to take Uncle Vernon. And he'd been slightly wrong. Today they were seeing the FA Charity Field which was between the _winners_ of the previous season.

Harry couldn't do anything but stare. This was insane.

He'd reluctantly allowed Riddle to teleport them to London around 2 pm because the game would take place at _Wembley Stadium_ with more than 70 thousand people in attendance.

"Tickets, please," they were asked, and Harry handed theirs over in a trance. Both him and Riddle wore Chelsea colours because Harry was a basic boy from the suburbs and they were his favourite team. He thought it was a bit wrong since regionally Riddle belonged more to Manchester, but since they were going to sit in the Chelsea fan block it might just be for the best.

Although ... Harry had never been part of a fan bawl. He kind of wanted to see one _in real-life_. Especially if it was Riddle being beaten and he could watch.

Riddle had been awfully quiet since they'd entered the stadium. He seemed out of place with his styled hair. The other fans were far into their fourth beer by now.

Riddle was uncomfortable.

Harry rammed his shoulder friendly and pulled him over to get the two of them some beer as well.

"I prefer wine," Riddle said but Harry just shook his head.

"It's part of the experience," he said. Then they entered the Chelsea block, which was a blue sea made of hats and scarfs. Riddle handed him a Chelsea flag a little later and they took their seats. Harry didn't think they'd be sitting for long.

Chelsea had a new goalkeeper Harry discovered eavesdropping on the other fans. And he chanted with them as they called the players names.

Overall the first half wasn't all that special but just being in the crowd for the first time, made Harry stand and scream through most of it. Once in a while he turned to Riddle and grinned.

And Riddle gave him a little smile back. Otherwise, he watched in silence. 

There was some trouble with Sheringham and Wise sometime in the middle, but Harry didn't care. This was great fun. He even queued for many minutes during the break to get them both another beer.

The second half started interesting.

"Corner, yesss," someone screamed into his ears - and finally Chelsea scored.

Harry jumped up and celebrated with the rest of the fans. They all ran around, hugging, screaming. Harry looked down at Riddle, still sitting, and pulled him to his feet. He'd not felt this elated in a long time. It was like all the worries from the last days and especially the new discoveries, had fallen away.

There was only football. And noise. And energy.

"They did it," he yelled and grinned at Riddle. Who grinned back.

It was pure euphoria.

Then Riddle bent down and kissed him. In the middle of fucking Wembly Stadium. In a celebrating Chelsea crowd. 

Harry's brain short-circuited. But then he pushed himself upward a bit and chased the taste of beer in Riddle's mouth. Riddle grabbed his hair with one hand and pulled him closer with the other. And it was magical.

Like a dream come true. A fantasy, he never even knew he had. Of himself doing normal things – watching a football game in a crowd – and then being kissed right there. Because someone wanted to kiss him.

Harry lost himself in the warm sliding of lips. He wondered why nobody had called them a slur yet. What luck that there were no homophobes around. When the noise had quieted, Riddle let him go and smiled softly. Then he turned back to the game as if nothing had happened at all.

Harry swallowed and then followed his example. There wasn't really anything to say, was there? It was just the energy from the game. If he wasn't this high on hormones, he wouldn't have allowed that.

Sadly Manchester evened the score only a few minutes later, but the feeling stuck with Harry for the rest of the game. It even remained when they teleported home that evening after Chelsea lost.

Harry couldn't help but feel that he'd made a special experience.

+++

Later that night, Tom sat at his desk and stared down at his letter. He'd purposefully changed the spellings of a few words to American. He also wrote with his left instead of his right hand.

> _Dear Head Auror Scrimgour,_
> 
> _It hasn't been long since I moved to Great Britain – so the war was before my time, but I couldn't help but pay attention to the Sirius Black case. It seemed so impossible to me that someone would just betray their best friends like that. It was in that context that I heard the name Peter Pettigrew before._
> 
> _Now, I also watch the Telly (No-Maj Radio with moving pictures) and only recently there was a case, where someone by the name of Peter Pettigrew was found in the woods. Apparently the corpse had identification with it._
> 
> _The police (No-Maj Aurors) are still unsure who the culprit is. Or how the man died._
> 
> _I believe this could be a coincidence but the name just stuck with me. The No-Maj authorities didn't manage to find any birth records of the man, even though he had a drivers licence. They now believe the name is fake - but they are searching for more information among the public._
> 
> _I just thought you should know. Now I can sleep peacefully at night again._
> 
> _With kind regards_
> 
> _Patrik Zuzak_

After that Tom let a bit of water drop on the letter. He made sure to let it run over the name and the greeting, making it party illegible. It was possible to identify the first and the last letter, but everything in between was just smushed ink.

Finally, Tom cast a few spells which would detect any residue such as fingerprints or DNA. They came back blank. Nothing would give him away. This was only security, should the Aurors check. And they would only do that if they found the letter suspicious. He thought about just sending it anonymously but that would make it especially odd. He didn't want this 'tip' to be suspected for a prank.

So he'd decided on the 'accidentally smushed through rain method', which the Head Auror could rationalise away. Scrimgeour was under a lot of stress at the moment. He wouldn't dig too deep.

Then Tom picked the owl that'd brought him the Prophet that morning. He gave her a gallon and she was more than willing to take the letter to the ministry on her way back home.

Time would tell whether Sirius Black won his trial. And whether Tom could use him to his advantage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help but put that picture in ;) I've had that sitting around on my iPad for a while and it fit :)  
> This game actually took place on August 3rd if you are interested there is a video [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LzuGDyfJ-q0).


	6. New Revelations

Harry again stood before his mirror and stared down his reflection. No, this was not weird, he told himself. He'd seen Zisby do this a million times now. He just had to believe it. His hand would produce light.

The mirror was part of this deal. He had to not feel ridiculous doing this. Magic was normal!

Harry exhaled and concentrated. Then he raised his hand again and said, " _Lumos_." Certain for the first time, that he was a wizard, and that Riddle wasn't blocking his magic. It would work now.

_And it did._

Harry grinned at himself in the mirror, then felt ridiculous. But the blinding white light that came from the palm of his right hand, and slowly floated into the air like a firefly, triggered giddiness he'd not felt in a while.

"That's something many Hogwarts graduates are unable to do," a voice said behind him, and Harry turned to Riddle who leaned in the door frame. He wore a purple dress, and a pope-like hat, which Harry knew meant he would attend some law thing today.

Harry hovered awkwardly before his mirror, trying his best to will the blush away. He hadn't felt this unsure of himself after Riddle had fucked him – why did that tiny kiss throw him off balance this badly. He avoided Riddle as best as he could, but he was invited for dinner every night.

"I can show you a few more exercises to practice," Riddle said and sat down on Harry's bed. Harry couldn't help but look at the tangled sheets. Then he forced his eyes away.

"When I was younger, before I entered a magical education," Riddle said, "I would let things fly around my room with nothing but my mind. I thought it was telekinesis for very long. And that I was the only one who could do it. I read about it somewhere." He looked at the book lying on Harry's desk and let it slowly float around the room, circulating around its axis.

"You don't need a word?" Harry asked.

"The words are less important than you think. It's more about telling your magic what exactly you want it to do. Magic learns throughout your life that a specific incantation means that you expect it to do something specific. _Lumos_ means Light, and so on. When said with a wand, it means 'light at the end of the wand'. Your magic wants to do your bidding – but it sometimes doesn't know what you mean."

Riddle crossed his legs in that ridiculous dress and still made it seem dignified somehow. Harry felt uncomfortable just standing there while Riddle sat, so he finally settled on sitting on his desk.

"With wandless, silent casting the problem is that you need to think very clearly what you want the magic to do in all its intricacies. So I want exactly the book with the red cover and the title _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ to rise into the air horizontally and then to start spinning around the axes of the shorter end. Magic can read your thoughts, but they tend to be very vague. It's why children _can_ do accidental magic, but set stuff on fire even though that's not their intention exactly. They might have just wanted for the room to be warmer. If you're not completely clear, your magic won't react – or at least not in the way you expect it to."

"So how did you discover this?" Harry asked.

"I experimented - there was nobody around who could explain it to me, so I made up my own rules."

"You weren't born to magical parents?" Riddle just looked at him, closed off. Harry should stop trying to get more information out of him. It seemed to only push him into a corner.

"My mother died giving birth to me. After that, I grew up in a non-magical orphanage. Anyway. As a child, you don't question your perception much. If you can make sparks come from your hand it's nothing to be afraid of. If you can get your own body to hover above the ground, it's fun. And so I practised and experimented with it."

Riddle opened up his legs a little and waved him closer. Harry stayed where he was.

"What do you want?" he asked, pressing his thumbs against the wood of the table behind him.

"I think I can help you with the visualizing. You have the advantage – if we call it that – that your magic is unused to a wand. It hasn't become _lazy_ yet. The basic spells should come to you far easier than to the common wizard. I think it's best if you practice these spells -" he flipped his wand, and a paper and quill appeared out of nowhere and started writing by itself "-before we get you a wand and a tutor."

"– a wand" Harry came closer at that, his feet just moving towards Riddle, pulled by those words. "I will get a wand? And a tutor?"

"Of course," Riddle looked up to Harry, the long legs stretched in front of him – completely relaxed. "Harry, you must understand by now, that I wish for you to be my husband. And I know that I haven't treated you the way you deserve, but I need you. And I want us to get along. You have quite the amount of magical education to catch up on. I don't want you to leave."

Harry swallowed and looked at his bare feet. Riddle wasn't fair. To just dangle those words before Harry, like chocolate on a string and then expect him to follow behind. Grasping for the treat, but never actually reaching the chocolate.

Harry felt a hand take his and pull him even closer. And suddenly he found himself in Tom's lap, a steady arm around his waist.

Harry held his breath. Why couldn't Riddle be mean again? That was easier to deal with.

"See," Riddle said as he lifted their joined right hands and pulled them into the air, murmuring words in Latin. "Now, say ' _Lumos'_ again and you'll see what your magic looks like while it does your bidding. It might help you with the other spells."

Riddle's breath fanned Harry's neck as he turned his head and Harry shivered. The list of spells folded itself neatly on the desk. Harry swallowed and croaked, " _Lumos_."

The light flared to life almost blindingly, but there was more. All around the room was what seemed to be a living shadow of light. It constantly changed directions, seemed almost vicious in its nature. Like fire, lashing out from time to time, always moving. And it all flowed in the direction of the Lumos in the centre in little waves.

"Your magic is temperamental," Riddle said with a chuckle. "Who would have guessed? Good that we didn't try _Incendio_." The hand around Harry's waist pulled him intimately against Riddle's upper body.

"What does yours looks like?" Harry asked, squirming away and Riddle reluctantly let him go.

Riddle considered Harry for a while but then he repeated the Latin words and said, " _Lumos"_ aloud himself.

The light which filled the room looked the same, but it felt colder than Harry's. Riddle's magical organism was completely frozen, like ice. But then it changed direction fast, like snapping, and fell still again after. It seemed like it played dead, only to attack.

"That looks like it's hunting," Harry said.

"Maybe it is," Riddle said and finally got off Harry's bed only to walk closer. Riddle smiled and cupped Harry's face, pecking him on the lips, before he turned to the door.

"See you tonight, _darling_ ," he said and then he was gone with a crack.

+++

When Tom arrived at the ministry he was in a good mood. He felt he had now found a way to repair his relationship with Harry. If he kept at it, he would have him in his bed sooner than later and then all his problems were solved.

It was also cute. The little blush slowly creeping into Harry's cheeks. The way he bit his lips. The hostile posture.

Tom smiled to himself and made sure to greet all present politicians by name.

Today the main hearing of Sirius Black would start and Tom expected it to be quite the spectacle. Scrimgeour and Greengrass were close friends after all.

Amelia Bones again sat at the side of the minister. Well, at the side of the minister and his stock of secretaries. Her face free of emotion but her eyes passionate.

"There you are, Tom," Marchbanks called from the other end of the room and Tom waved good-naturedly and made his way over to her and Abbott.

"How are you today? You are lucky to be a part of this. We seldom have trials of this size," Abbott said and patted a seat next to her.

"Lady Abbott, it's a pleasure to see you again. And yes, it will be an instructive experience for me. But it is good that there are no more cases of this size. Such crimes are atrocious."

"Right you are, Tom! To think he even managed to escape Azkaban. They still don't know how he did it, so this trial is also about discovering that knowledge. Although I heard from Amelia that she has _questions_." Tom nodded slowly. He noticed out of the corner of his eye, that both women were rather fidgety. He skimmed their surface thoughts without much pressure and was met with one thought: Harry Potter.

So Lady Greengrass had been busy gossiping.

"I made an interesting discovery over the weekend." Tom decided to take this into his hand. "I told you about my spouse, didn't I? Lady Greengrass informed me that his name was rather well-known among the British people. That came as a surprise to me - both of us. I have further researched that he has some connection to Sirius Black."

Tom noticed the moment they gave up on pretending that they knew nothing and weren't interested.

"We've heard Tom. To think you married Harry Potter without knowing his history. The world works in odd ways. Nobody can explain how he came to be declared dead. There even is a grave for him in Godric's Hollow."

Tom faked a shiver.

"I find that disconcerting," he said. Before they could speak more, the remaining members of the Wizengamot filled in, among them Dumbledore, and Bones got to her feet.

"We are here today, to begin the trial of Sirius Black, nearly sixteen years after the crimes he is accused of were committed. Mr Black has his own lawyer. I know this is a touchy subject for all of us, but I ask you to remain quiet and collected, as to not prolong this trial longer than necessary."

She threw them all a significant look and then sat back down. Tom was sure he heard Fudge mutter that he missed Crouch Sr who had retired suddenly after the Triwizard tournament and passed shortly after. Officially at least. 

Tom just shook his head and focused his attention on the door which had just opened to welcome Black into the room.

The atmosphere vibrated with tension, all eyes on one man, who was again shackled to the chair in the centre of the room.

The following proceedings were boring. Lord Greengrass said that Black pleaded innocent. Then the long process of evidence began.

First, they showed memories. Some of which Tom had been present at and more he was unfamiliar with. But that wasn't enough for the people here. By the time the memory session was over, they were all convinced that Black had somehow been trained as an Occlumens by Voldemort personally and nothing he said under Veritaserum could be trusted.

"He is guilty," Umbridge said. "This man deserves the kiss purely for trying to fool this body of justice."

"Well now, Dolores," Dumbledore said standing up. "Sirius is no Occlumens. There is obviously more to this story than what swims at the surface." He sat back down and gestured for Bones to continue.

Tom detested that they were on the same side at the moment.

"There is more," Greengrass said when it was quieter. "There is proof that Pettigrew was alive until just recently. We have located his body at a muggle Institut for forensic medicine. There was no time to file a motion earlier. But I ask for the Wizengamot to collect the body and order an autopsy."

After that, no amount of telling the court to be quiet helped. Bones finally just called the end of the first day of the proceedings and gave a new date for it to commence in the next week.

+++

After the hearing had ended, Black was again returned to his cells. Dumbledore pretty much disappeared from the building as soon as it was over and so Tom felt it was the right moment to sway another person to his side.

"Ms Marchbanks," he said. "Is there any way I can talk to Mr Black in person? I feel I have a personal connection to him due to my husband and I'm convinced that he is innocent. Since everyone seemed so certain that Harry was dead, there definitely is something odd with this whole situation. I feel Mr Black might not know that Harry is alive either."

"Are you sure, Tom?" Marchbanks said as she and Abbott turned to him. "They say they found Pettigrew's body, but nothing is certain yet. I don't want Harry to be disappointed."

"You are right, of course. Harry doesn't know about the trial at all since I didn't make the connection until now. I would just like to have a talk with Mr Black, and I won't bring Harry to see him until I am one-hundred per cent certain that he is indeed a good influence on him."

Marchbanks smiled at him kindly, while Abbott gushed over what a wonderful spouse Tom was. _So young, but so mature_ , she said.

"You best ask Lord Greengrass then. I'm sure he is willing to help you out! Go home after that. I expect you back tomorrow morning." She winked and Tom gave a half-bow before making his way through the rest of the members to find Greengrass.

"Meet Sirius?" Greengrass asked. "Why not? He's an interesting man. And fate did him dirty. I already informed him that I met his godson. He will be more than happy to speak to you, I am sure."

That's how Tom soon found himself on Level -1 and was lead by two Aurors down a path of cells on both sides. Most of them empty.

"Would you give us some privacy?" Tom asked the Aurors and they distanced themselves some.

"Hello, Lord Black," Tom said and stepped closer to the bars.

"Not a Lord, lad," Black said and got up from his plank bed. "You're that Mr Riddle I've heard off?"

"Yes, Sir," Tom said. "I'm married to Harry Potter." Black sniffed and rubbed a hand over his face.

"I thought I was wrong for so long. When I saw a picture of Pettigrew in the paper, I was so certain Harry was in danger at Hogwarts - only to discover that Harry was supposedly dead and never attended Hogwarts. I mean I saw him that night Lily and James died. I handed him to Hagrid. I knew he was alive."

Black shook his head. 

"You know what happened that night then?" Tom asked.

"Oh no. I just knew that Harry was somehow still alive and Voldemort was gone. Lily and James dead." Black swallowed. "Is he okay? Harry. Can I meet him."

Tom stared through the bars and tried to decide, whether this man was truly an enrichment to Harry's life. But then maybe it wasn't his decision and he should just ask Harry whether he wanted to meet his godfather or not.

"I can ask him. He might want to wait until your trial is over, though."

"I understand. Please just ask him to give me a chance." Tom nodded.

"Do you know how Harry ended up in the Muggle world for so long? I thought he was a squib when I met him."

Sirius looked at him with confused eyes. "No," he said, then blinked.

At that moment, Tom felt some of the wards placed on Riddle House tear and Zisby appeared next to him.

"Master Tom," she said distressed. "Master Harry just vanished." Tom could feel it himself. Harry wasn't in his house anymore. He was far away. Scottland? Somewhere North. 

"I suggest you brainstorm on the subject some more," Tom said to Black. "I promise that I will speak to Harry."

Black seemed like he wanted to say more, but Tom had no time for more small talk. Dumbledore had kidnapped his husband.

+++

Harry found the rainbow sock again when Zisby returned the clothes he'd worn at the party after washing them. He simply stared at it for many moments as it lay there on his sheets, looking innocent.

He felt ridiculous. What could be wrong with a sock? But then this was the magical world, and the man who handed it to him had done so in a rather ominous manner. When he reached down and took it into his hand, however, the world tilted.

He landed hard, one elbow hitting the surface of a table, one foot twisting under his weight. He plummeted to the floor, and curled up, hands clutched over his head. There he stayed, rubbing the places which hurt the most.

"Harry, my boy," a voice said from somewhere above him and Harry scrambled to his feet. He blinked and took in the circular room. It had many odd-looking objects in it, some of which twisted and swung. The walls were decorated with portraits – which moved, just like the pictures.

"Hello," Harry said. His voice had disappeared in the shock, so he coughed. "Hello," he said again more forcefully.

"I'm very sorry that I had to organise this discussion in such a rude way. But there wasn't much choice on my part. Sherbet Lemon?" Harry blinked at the old man sitting behind a large desk with thin legs. He had an incredibly long white beard and wore one of those ridiculous hats. His eyes twinkled behind round glasses.

Harry declined the candy but sat down in the offered chair. Maybe in wizard culture, simply kidnapping people to your desired location, was the done thing, and this wasn't odd at all. Better to pretend to be well adapted.

"Why am I here? Where is this?" Harry asked.

"This is Hogwarts. My name is Albus Dumbledore." Harry nodded and got back up from the chair to look out of the window. There was a big football field in the distance. Instead of goals, it had three large rings on either side. And there were indeed people flying on brooms. Maybe a Club practising during the summer holidays.

Harry's heart started beating fast, just seeing that. He still hadn't tried his broom – it had somewhat gotten lost in his thirst for the truth about his parents' death - but he would try it as soon as he got home.

"Harry?"

"Yes, please talk," he said, still staring at the brooms, making a hand gesture for the old man to continue. "I'm listening."

"Well." Dumbledore sighed. "I want to talk to you about Tom Riddle." Harry returned to his seat at that and sat back down. Intelligence on Riddle he surely wouldn't turn down.

"You know him? I thought he went to Durmstrang."

The man looked at him, then smiled sadly. Harry blinked. This was a very odd conversation. What did the headmaster of this school want with him anyway?

"It's true. Tom did attend Durmstrang until just recently. Tom also attended Hogwarts a long time ago. In the 40s to be precise." Harry felt a shiver pass through his body, gooseflesh all over his arms. The two pictures flashed before his inner eye.

"He's twenty," he said.

Dumbledore got to his feet. "Do you know what a Pensive is?" he asked.

Harry shook his head.

"It preserves memories, prevents their weathering through age. It's the way I can keep my mind sharp at more than 110 years. I already taught at this school when Tom was a student in the 40s. I want to show those memories to you." He walked over to a golden bowl which had a sort of silvery-white liquid inside, which showed them their reflection when leaning over it.

Dumbledore dipped his head and finally showed it under the surface. Harry thought the entire pose looked very odd. The smart thing to do, Harry thought, would be to just walk out of the door and run. But then this might be the missing puzzle piece which had prevented him from solving the picture problem before. Harry sighed and hoped that nobody would enter in their absence. Then he followed behind, holding his breath.

They found themselves in an old house. There was the noise of children running around downstairs, screaming. Harry looked to the side and found two Dumbledores, one of them younger than the other, as they followed a woman into an office.

"Where are we?" Harry asked, still fascinated by the substance of the memories around him.

"The year is 1938, I believe. And we are in Wool's orphanage." Harry nodded. If he was honest with himself, he was already halfway convinced of what this man wanted to tell him - but he would keep an open mind. This was shortly before World War Two.

The woman then drank Gin with the younger Dumbledore. Harry felt a bit sorry for her. He could emphasise with her confusion and was a bit scared by the tricks Dumbledore used to fool her. He was also reminded of aunt Petunia when she'd drank a bit too much wine. It had happened more and more often in recent years.

His aunt had talked gibberish when she was drunk. Said he was freaky, even if no letter had ever come for him. Thinking of it - she must have known that his mother was a witch.

When they later entered the barren room which supposedly housed Tom, Harry held his breath. And it was true, Harry thought. This looked exactly like a younger version of Riddle. With the same controlled air. When the boy started speaking, it was clear, however, that this was a version much less used to social interaction. Much more reliant on the people around him. A version much more pushed into a corner.

Harry also noticed that the younger Dumbledore disliked small Riddle on sight. It was the moment Harry decided to take everything he said with a grain of salt. Although he had to agree - this was a vicious child.

"That was a bit much," Harry said as he looked at the burning wardrobe. Dumbledore turned to him with questioning eyes. "If you don't have much," Harry continued, "that which you _do_ have is much more valuable. Before I went away to school, nobody much liked me. If weird things happen around you - well, people are superstitious." Harry looked at Tom who showed more emotions now then Harry had ever seen from his grown-up self. "And this is in the 30s. I bet he got the worst of it."

"You are right, of course," Dumbledore said. "I think I was always a bit scared of him." Harry looked up startled. "But he confirmed all my worst fears." Dumbledore looked back at Tom.

Harry furrowed his brow.

"Were the Riddles magical?" he asked.

"No, Harry. But you will see for yourself soon."

Harry blinked as the world around them dissolved, and they entered a different memory. Now in a wood. When Harry looked around, he recognized the Riddle House on a hill in the distance.

"This is Little Hangleton," he said. Dumbledore nodded next to him as they waited to be granted entrance. The little hut looked like it was about to fall apart in front of their eyes. And this wasn't Dumbledore's memory but that of a man named Ogden. Harry still decided to stay cautious.

"You are able to understand them, I believe?" Dumbledore asked. Harry had noticed that the family here spoke a language with each other neither Dumbledore nor Ogden knew. "The language is called Parseltongue. This family, the Gaunts are able to speak to snakes. It's what we call hereditary magic. That woman, Merope, is Tom Riddle's mother. He has also inherited this trait."

Harry turned to Dumbledore at that. Over the following conversation, Harry saw much of the nastiness and prejudice he'd already seen so much of in the wizarding world. But then the fight broke out and Harry had other problems.

"What happened then?" Harry asked. "If she gave birth to Tom. Merope must have survived."

"Yes," Dumbledore answered. They had already entered a different scene. A large entrance hall - Hogwarts if Harry wasn't completely wrong. "Her father, Marvolo, who gave Tom his middle name, as you heard in the previous memory, and her brother Morfin were sent to Azkaban, the wizard prison."

Harry nodded slowly. "And she then made Tom Riddle Sr - he rode past them right - fall in love with her? Frank told me that Tom Riddle Sr ran off with a … tramp. That's her. This was the scandal. And he said she hexed him. Did she have a child with him against his will?"

"You are better informed than I would have guessed." Dumbledore's twinkly eyes were back. "Yes. I believe she used a love potion. They are illegal, but that is not a hindrance for those motivated enough."

"She raped him - and then lifted the enchantment? He left her?"

"That's what I believe - but I can only guess what happened. As you heard before she then died giving birth in the orphanage."

But their conversation was drawn to what happened around them in the entrance hall. There was again the younger Dumbledore and with him was Riddle - the one he had already seen in the photographs. They had a very short conversation in which Harry could clearly see the mutual dislike of the two before Riddle walked away.

"This was in Tom's fifth year. It was also the year the Chamber of Secrets was opened. It's a place which is supposed to belong to the ancient Salazar Slytherin, of whom you've just learned Tom is a descendant and whose talents he shares. You need to understand that I don't have any proof for this theory either which is why Tom was never punished for this crime."

They waited for a while and soon saw Riddle walking back fastpaced, a large bushy boy running after him.

"He didn't do it, Tom. Aragog isn't the monster from the chamber." But Riddle just talked back louder and soon not only Dumbledore waited on them, but a few other old - Harry suspected them to be teachers - came to see what the ruckus was about.

"It is past curfew," an elderly witch said.

"He was housing the monster," Riddle said, his voice ringing in the hall. "I saw it. I was very large and had big fuzzy legs."

"Aragog is just an Acrumantula. He doesn't petrify!" the bushy child said.

There was much loud discussion, but finally, the teachers settled on viewing Riddle's memories and were finally convinced - all but Dumbledore who kept his distance - that he was indeed in the right.

"What was the crime, sir?" Harry asked, feeling a bit sorry for the bushy kid Hagrid, who had started crying very early in the discussion and not stopped for the entire time. Harry also knew that this was Riddle's face when he wanted his lies to be believed.

"A girl was killed. The school was supposed to be closed down, and you might imagine that Tom did not want to go home to the orphanage. The attacks stopped after the arrest."

"He had to return to the orphanage his entire school career?"

Dumbledore nodded.

"Was that safe?" Harry asked. "Wasn't World War Two happening during this time?"

"It wasn't safe anywhere, Harry. There was a wizarding war as well." Dumbledore twirled his beard between his fingers. "And he did kill Myrtle - though it might have been an accident. He is the only one who knows for sure." 

"So what happened," Harry asked. "How is he alive now? Did he de-age himself somehow?" Harry shuddered at the thought. Was Tom really that old?

"No, Harry. Tom is very much twenty – at least mentally. Death can split you if you don't feel remorse for it." They looked at the men leading Hagrid away in shackles. "I think that the person who you met as Tom Riddle is a soul fragment which split off from his main soul during that murder."

Harry didn't believe in souls, so he found it hard to grasp what that was even supposed to mean.

"So all this is pure speculation?"

"Yes." Dumbledore shook his head. "I also don't know how exactly he managed to come back. I was only informed that he attended Durmstrang at some point three years ago. I can only share my theory with you. There is one more thing I wish to show you."

Harry followed as the memory changed again. They entered into a common, middle-class household and were met with a young couple playing with a baby while a Dumbledore - who looked very much like he did now - sat with them and drank tea.

"Who are they?" Harry asked.

"You've never seen a picture?" Dumbledore asked baffled. "Your parents, Lily and James Potter. They were my students too. During their youth, a war started. A man, known as Voldemort, terrorised our country."

"Wizard Hitler," Harry nodded. He felt like they had entered territory he had at least researched before.

"You need to understand Harry, that I only reconstructed what I believe happened that night, with the aftermath I found. Those memories do have your dead parents in them, so I wish to refrain from showing them to you. It happened in this house, however."

Harry lingered in the door looking back at his very young parents playing with himself as a toddler. It constricted his throat. The other Dumbledore stayed downstairs, as they made their way up to the second floor. The edges of the memory became fuzzier as they progressed, but the room they entered was still identifiable – vaguely.

"This is your nursery. The night – October 31st 1981, your parents were betrayed by someone we call the Secret Keeper. There is a spell which prevents anyone from knowing a house exists unless the secret keeper tells them the name of the place.

"Anyway. That person betrayed them, and Voldemort came here instantly. Your dad went outside to fight him off, while your mom ran upstairs for safety. Your father died. Voldemort followed your mother into the nursery and killed her as well. Then he tried to kill you, and something happened which is not very common."

Dumbledore stared into the middle distance.

"You need to understand that soulmates are unable to kill each other." Harry turned his head so fast to him; it cracked. "Disarm yes, hurt yes. But kill. Magic sometimes hurts itself by accident. But death magic is a lot like sex magic its opposite. It makes the magic intertwine. When it happens during sex magic, it forms an unbreakable bond between two magical cores. It practically forces them into a single core. During death magic, it self-destroys – both soulmates. This happens because magic wants to do as its master commands. And if a wizard would want to die by turning their wand on their person, magic won't fight that. Killing your soulmate is, therefore, interpreted by magic as a suicide."

Harry swallowed, then he blinked.

"Voldemort isn't my soulmate, though – Tom is," he said. But it didn't sound convincing, even to his ears.

"My boy," Dumbledore drew a few sparkling letters into the air – I AM LORD VOLDEMORT – then he made them twirl. They reformed as TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE. Harry stared at them. "He was rather fond of this anagram, I imagine."

Harry sank to the floor.

"But how did I live then?" he mumbled. "How is either of us alive? Was he reborn somehow after that night? He disappeared after all. That's what all the books say."

"I don't know how Tom himself came back. I last saw Voldemort briefly in 1991 when he tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone. But after that, he disappeared, and I never heard of him again, until a different, younger version reappeared in the form of Tom a few years later.

"Tom – or Voldemort – survived because of his split soul which anchored him to the world of the living. You, because your mother had just sacrificed herself for you. There was a strong layer of protection left by that."

Harry stared unseeing at the slowly fading edges of the memory. Had he – had he slept with his parents' murderer?

They pulled out of the Pensive and Harry just sat down in the visitor chair, taking one sherbet lemon after the other. He didn't even like the taste, but he couldn't help but crush one after the other between his teeth.

"So why did you block my magic then and keep me from going to Hogwarts?" Harry asked. That was the conclusion he'd come to. Dumbledore seemed to be the only person who'd known all along that Harry was alive. Dumbledore smiled at him pained. As if one sorry smile, one twinkle of eyes, would just make everything okay again.

"My boy."

"Don't 'my boy' me right now. Tell me why you did it! Because if it was to prevent Tom and me from bonding, then it bloody failed. _Epically_."

Harry jumped to his feet and grabbed something from the desk and smashed it against the next wall. How did this old man treat him like he'd known him all his life? They were strangers, but he was the one who'd kept Harry from discovering all this information differently. He'd made him this helpless.

Before Dumbledore could answer though, there was a short knock on the door and the man who'd given him the rainbow sock stepped in. He still wore those dark, sweeping robes, and his hair was even oilier than Harry remembered.

"Severus -"

"Don't you dare ask whether it can wait, because it cannot! He's here and demands to have his husband returned to him."

"Tom can wait. Tell him that Harry and I aren't done with our discussion yet. Harry might not want to go home with Tom anymore, and, my boy -" he turned to Harry,"- you should know that I offer you sanctuary in my school for as long as you should need it."

Harry looked at the black-haired man, who seemed very hurried.

"Would you give Riddle a room to stay in as well?" Harry asked.

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"And do you, by chance, have any Veritaserum stocked in this place? I have questions. Many questions." Harry exhaled and got to his feet. "And I would like to be by myself for a bit, please."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. RL is annoying sometimes.  
> I also apologize for my awful grammar. I've been editing this for two days, and it's just not getting better... The memories Dumbledore shows Harry only work based on the assumption that you know what's happening in canon. I didn't want to repeat all that so I watered them down :)
> 
> Sorry to leave this on a cliff-hanger ;) I'll try to be faster with the next chapter.


	7. Some Truth and a Lifetime of Demands

Tom’s stomach contracted. Harry was refusing to meet up, and Tom had somehow not expected that. So here he was, at Hogwarts, the home of his past self and the place he'd never thought he would enter again.

He’d Floo-ed in sick that morning - “ _Yes, a terrible fever, maybe Dragon Pox,”_ he’d said. And Marchbanks had predictably been very concerned and said he should stay home and let Harry take care of him. Tom had had a very hard time keeping the nice smile on his face and thanked her for understanding.

“Go ask him again, Zisby,” Tom said into the empty room.

“You is needing to be eating better, Master Tom,” Zisby said, looking sadly at the plate of food which had gone cold, but popped away anyway.

It had been longer than 24 hours now. If he could just speak to Harry everything would be okay. But his husband didn’t want to talk. According to Zisby, he sat in his own room, only a few walls away, stared out the window and ignored everyone who wanted to see him. 

To Tom’s satisfaction that included Dumbledore. Zisby said he’d only sent a letter to Daphne Greengrass and ate his food. Why her, Tom didn’t know. But it wasn’t the most troubling problem at hand.

“Master Harry is wanting Master Tom to come to his room now,” Zisby said. Tom exhaled and got to his feet. He felt tired; he had spent most of the night walking circles around the room. Insomnia was something Tom was intimately familiar with, but normally he could at least force a few hours of sleep, if only for his health.

When Tom arrived in front of Harry’s room, he also found Snape and Dumbledore there. Tom only barely controlled the reflex to pull his wand out and kill them right there and then. Snape flinched slightly under his gaze, while Dumbledore just twinkled unconcerned.

“Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore said as the door opened. Harry threw him a look and turned to Snape.

“You have the Veritaserum?” he asked. Snape’s eyes grazed Tom before he pulled a small bottle from the depths of his robes and handed it over.

“Thank you,” Harry said and nodded for Tom to get into the room. Tom, however, felt frozen to the spot. Again, Veritaserum. Harry most likely thought this had worked so well before. But that hadn’t been here, under Dumbledore’s roof.

“Are you sure, Harry?” Dumbledore asked. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be alone with Tom at the moment.”

Harry smiled without kindness, making a stronger hand movement for Tom to get into his room.

“As you’ve informed me, headmaster,” Harry said, “soulmates cannot kill each other. So I’m hardly in any danger. I thank you for your hospitality, but Tom and I will have a long talk now. In privacy!”

Tom finally unstuck his feet. As soon as he’d passed the threshold, Harry closed the door in Dumbledore’s face. 

“Hand your wand to Luppy,” Harry said. “The elves have put up as many wards as they know to assure our privacy, but I won’t allow you the advantage of magic in this conversation!”

“I-” Tom said.

“ _You’re the one_ who’s been sending Zisby to me every twenty minutes since you arrived here. _You’re the one_ who wants to talk so badly. Well, we’ll talk! But on my terms. And those are: you will regularly drink this,” Harry slammed the Veritaserum bottle onto the surface of the barren desk, “and this time we are not playing the silencing game. I’m asking questions and you're talking! No magic!”

Tom opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Harry’s eyes were pure steel; the arms crossed before his chest. Tom exhaled and handed his wand over to Luppy, who hovered awkwardly next to them, not daring to lift his head.

“Great,” Harry said decisively. Tom thought he could detect a little relieved exhale. But that might be wishful thinking. “So, this is how this is going to go. You swallow doses of the Veritaserum. Zisby told me that you could take five doses before it gets dangerous. It should give us up to twenty minutes. Then we might have to take a break, depending on how many questions I have left.”

“Write them-”

“-No! This is non-negotiable. Of course, you can refuse to participate in this.” Harry shrugged, looking out the window. His voice was plain, all in one pitch. “Fine by me. But I will not leave this castle before you’ve answered every last one of my questions!”

There was silence after. Tom could see Zisby and Luppy in the corner of the room looking from one to the other. Tom swallowed as he took the bottle of Veritaserum into his hand. This would not go well. But then, talking was the only option he had left.

“Fine,” Tom said reluctantly and sat down on the bed. He would not sit at the desk again. They’d moved past desk conversations. He’d made so much headway recently.

What exactly had Dumbledore told Harry?

There were no cups here like they’d had back at Riddle House, so Tom was left to drip three drops of the solution directly into his mouth. It tasted like nothing, but it instantly surged through his body, took control of his tongue. He hadn’t even wholly swallowed when Harry began.

“Are you and Voldemort the same person?” he asked. He sat on the window seat, legs pulled up to his chest and stared at Tom.

“Noyss,” Tom said because that was what the potion demanded. Harry furrowed his brow.

“Is it not working?”

“It is,” was forced from Tom’s mouth, then he added himself, “the answer is just more complicated than that. A yes or no would be too simple. You need to ask a better question.”

Harry fumbled with his clothes and finally pulled out a piece of paper. He pressed himself even farther into the window and wet his lips.

“How are you and Voldemort the same person then? And how are you different from each other?”

Tom hated this potion for the reason that you could never predict in advance what would trigger a large answer. Usually, there was barely the time to pull in some air, before the talking began.

“We are the same person in the regard that we share the first sixteen years of our life. We are the same person now again because I did a ritual to become the anchor Horcrux. I don’t share any of Voldemort’s memories between June 1943 and July 1994 - “

Tom felt the first dose of Veritaserum let go of him at that, and he breathed in some more air. It was disconcerting always, this uncontrolled flood of words.

“What the hell does that even mean?” Harry said and rubbed his hand over his eyes. Tom felt something pull in his chest. It wasn't good, seeing Harry in distress.

“We are -” he started, and Harry turned to the wall. “We were - “ Tom bit his lip. There was no making this better. “Because of circumstances, a part of my soul was separated from the rest of it.”

“Yes, I‘ve heard of these souls that you can apparently split! And then you just merged it back together? And de-aged yourself 50 years?”

“Well -”

“-Whatever. Drink up,” Harry said and held up more Veritaserum. Tom had hoped he had forgotten about that. As soon as he was back under the influence, Harry sat up straighter.

“What has happened in your life since you returned from the dead? Or since you arrived in modern times? I don’t know, since 1994 or whatever.”

So Tom talked and felt transported back.

+++

It had always been hard for Tom to feel much at all, but even he was surprised upon hearing that he had murdered his father and grandparents. As far as he remembered that had never been the plan. It was dreadful, them being Muggles and all, but they seemed reasonably rich, and they could have taken custody of him. They must have been infuriating to end up dead.

It was now the summer of 1994 and raining non-stop. Tom had finally whipped the house somewhat into shape. He mostly let the elves handle how to get funds and food; it was easy enough stealing from Muggles. Other than that Tom was studying. Karkaroff had made sure that his non-existent OWLs were no problem, but there was much to catch up on if he wanted to succeed in his NEWTs in the next year.

It was, therefore, a dreadful inconvenience when he felt his wards shiver. It wasn't the aggressive humming of intrusion but more of a confused recognition. Tom quickly disillusioned himself and tried to hide as much of recent human life in this house as he possibly could.

His alter ego seemed to have lost his touch completely. He had the form and size of a literal baby. Tom repulsed upon hearing, by spying on Crouch Jr, Pettigrew and Voldemort, that his older self wanted to resurrect himself with Dumbledore's blood. Tom decided then that this insanity had to be stopped. There were limits! Dumbledore's blood in his veins was one of them.

He sent Frank away on holiday and moved most of his stuff to the attic.

“ _You smell just like the master,_ ” Nagini said to him the night when they met for the first time, Tom still disillusioned. Her sense of smell was superior enough to know precisely where he was. Tom thought of killing her, but she didn't seem aggressive.

“ _I am him,”_ he said.

“ _You are. And you are not,”_ she said knowingly and slithered into his lap. _“You should have never split. It doesn't feel natural. Pet me, he has such cold skin, it's not nice for pets_ _.”_

“ _Just because something is unnatural doesn't mean it is bad,”_ Tom said and scratched her scales.

“ _Maybe. I don’t know. In your case, it is.”_ Tom rolled his eyes, then shrugged and buried himself deeper in his books. He petted Nagini absently and thought about what was still to be done.

“ _You will make it right again,”_ she said as she slithered away.

It took Tom nearly the entire summer to complete the arithmetic calculations, to assemble all the Runes he would need, to get the Latin phrases correct. He visited the Durmstrang library three times for their forbidden section on Horcruxes. Karkaroff had given him a free pass for everything. He was such a useful but pathic wizard who always fled the school whenever Tom chose to visit.

Finally, he asked Nagini for some help.

“ _Bring the master to the clearing in the woods?"_ she asked. _"Of course, I can do that. Even baby snakes would be able.”_

And so Tom found himself standing at the centre of a moon-powered diagram, waiting for his Anchor Horcrux.

He wouldn't have succeeded if there hadn't been his reflexes and thoughtful planning. So when the full moon peaked, Voldemort knelt at the centre of the diagram and was drained of his soul. Tom had his memories transferred to a waiting pensive, the magic and soul to his own body. And Voldemort’s corpse, well, it wasn't like there was much of that, to begin with.

But that was where he'd gone wrong. The new soul fragment, the anchoring soul, was now linked to his own. It meant all the other Horcruxes kept him alive, but he was also contaminated by decay which had eaten away at Voldemort’s sanity.

It was stupid wasn't it? That soul, magic and mind where so tightly intertwined. If one began to rot, the others followed closely behind.

It had taken him nearly all of his seventh year to truly identify what was wrong. It took a while to understand that he wasn't just tired, but that there was something actively messing with his memory. That his brain wasn't working as efficiently as it had before.

It was then that he'd first looked at Voldemort's memories and from an outsider viewpoint it was obvious that with every new cut in his soul, he'd gotten more insane. More sadistic, more unleashed. Tom had done intense studies with his magic. Had looked whether he could put a wall between the rotting soul and his magic and his mind. But no, he was powerless. His soul was lost, anyway. He had known that.

But in the end, all he had found for his magic was Harry.

+++

“You saw the memory of Voldemort murdering my parents?” Harry asked as he looked at Riddle’s face. He had gotten himself a blanket which was now wrapped around his shoulders. He still felt cold, a shiver shaking his body from time to time. Riddle only revealed his past in little bits, and Harry knew that there was still so much hidden.

“Yes, I did. Apparently, there was some sort of prophecy or whatever. It was so vague, only someone deranged would act based on that. But he did – I did. Then the curse backfired when he tried to kill you and I realised who you were to me. I don't think Voldemort himself noticed that you survived while he left. But I did. And I decided I would find you. It took me more than two years.”

“But why? Why must you pull me into all of this? Magic is cool – I give you that. But I was happy in the non-magical world. I was perfectly fine with my life. There is just one year of school left. I was almost free. Why did you have to drag me here?”

Riddle was struggling. That much was sure the way get bit his lips, trying desperately to keep them shut.

“Come on, tell me. Why did you bond with me?”

Riddle glared at him, as he took one shaky breath but before he could confess Harry saw his left hand twitch. From what he’d noticed over the last couple of doses, that was a clear sign that the Serum had stopped working.

Harry sighed as Riddle stammered a bizarre story of wanting companionship with someone he was truly meant for.

Destiny or some crap.

Harry just got up and told him to take another dose.

“It is not being safe, Master Harry,” Luppy said. “This is being the seventh. It is being longer than twenty minutes already.”

Harry just crossed his arms and stared Riddle down.

“I want to know why you bonded with me!” he said. “We can do this the easy and the hard way. I may count it in your favour if you just volunteer the truth for once.” Riddle had that odd glint in his eyes again, as he looked at Harry, most likely reading his thoughts. Like always.

Then he looked at the tabletop, which Harry thought odd. Riddle could lie while looking someone in the eye.

“Why do you need me, Tom?” Harry asked. Riddle swallowed.

“I'm going — insane because Voldemort's soul was contaminated. Being connected to your magical core cleans mine. Magic is the only buffer between soul and mind, and if I keep my magic healthy, I keep my mind sane. If we regularly have sex, the bond is strong enough to have a steady exchange of magic. _I need you_ , okay?” Riddle’s hands were perfectly still. Not shaking, his entire body seemed frozen. When he met Harry’s eyes, he looked almost scared.

Harry had to think of Riddle’s magic, the way it lay in wait silently before attacking. Was that what this was?

Either Riddle actually chose to be vulnerable with Harry right now, or well, he just wanted to fool him again.

Harry just stared back, willing his brain to come up with a reply.

+++

Harry still didn’t know what to think when he sat back in his room a day later. He tapped the glass of the window with his finger, barely restraining himself from banging his head against it. What was he supposed to do?

There most likely wasn't a right and a wrong answer.

“Harry?” a voice came from outside and Harry was on his feet in a second. He pulled the handle and the door opened with one steady swing. Daphne, dressed primly in wizarding robes, still had one hand raised as if to knock.

“You could make it,” he said, and she raised an eyebrow at his obvious relief.

“It is hardly proper for a married man to invite an unwed woman to his room,” she said. Harry paused, biting his lip, and then glanced back at her uncertainly.

“I-”

“Leave it. I hardly care. You look like a kicked puppy. What can I do for you? Your letter was very secretive.”

“It. Well.” Harry just stepped back to let her inside, and then waited as she sat down at his desk and pulled her small handbag from her arm. “Did you-?”

“Did I bring literature on suppression bonds?” she asked. “Indeed, I did. Did you tell me why I was supposed to - no you did not?” She flipped her hair as she opened the bag and pulled tome after tome from its mids until there was a giant pile sitting on the desk. Harry was impressed. Magic did seem to make all aspects of life more comfortable. He wished he would have had a bag like that for school.

“I, well! Okay, so this won’t get better no matter how I say it. Tom and I, we have a suppression bond, but I don’t like it. And I want to research whether there are options to reverse it - or, make it more equal.”

“You have a suppression bond?” Daphne looked at him oddly.

“Isn’t it normal?”

“Well, it is, in certain circles. Pure-blood circles that is. Suppression bonds allow the preservation of family-specific magic. And most pure-blood families have very specific rituals, inheritance magic and so on. Blacks have the metamorphmagus ability for example and are very proud of it. Generally, couples only activate the bond during the conception period. It allows for only one magical core to influence the child.” She looked a bit awkward at that.

“It’s also important during rites and prayers and so on. Nobody other than traditionalists care. Many magical families, and well, especially those of mixed heritage couldn’t care less. It seems a bit weird for the two of you. Being half-bloods and all. Unless there is specific magic you want to pass on to a child?”

Harry did not want to think of why she phrased that as a question.

“No! No! It’s just - “ Harry shook his head. He was disastrous with words. Daphne’s eyes warmed some to him, and it felt almost like pity.

Harry didn’t want pity right now. He wanted facts. Just like he’d gotten with Riddle. The hard, cold, maybe hurtful facts of what his situation was and what he could do about it.

“Okay,” she sighed. “So I suppose you won’t answer if I ask why the hell you have a suppression bond and don’t want it? Tom Riddle is getting less and less nice as we speak. But I respect my friends’ privacy. And you are soulmates.” She sighed again and opened one of her books. “Well strip then, please. I hope the runes are in a place which won’t make this too awkward for both of us.”

Harry was grateful that she took it all in stride. They had met once and only exchanged letters ever since. They barely knew each other, well, apart from their deepest secrets.

He quickly scrambled out of his jumper and turned his back to her. After, he only heard the turning of pages and the scratching of a quill against parchment.

From time to time, he felt a very tentative touch on his back as she traced the runes with her finger.

“Okay,” she said finally. “I do understand what he did. This bond allows him almost complete control over your core. He must have planned this quite a bit. It must have taken a while to come up with this Rune Array. Normal marriage bonds only need to deal with the fact that there are two connected cores. He adapted an old Parselmagic marriage bond to a soulmate unicore.”

Harry turned to her and pulled his shirt back over his head.

“Are you okay, Harry?” Daphne asked. “He hurts you?”

Harry looked at her quizzically. When had he become a domestic abuse case? He only shook his head. Riddle had done many things, but he'd not hurt him.

“I think Tom needs to be in control,” Harry said. “Of a every thing in his life. I would prefer to keep the exact way we bonded private if you don't mind.” He avoided her eyes. “But I don't want to have this power imbalance any longer. And we are sort of renegotiating our relationship right now.” He gestured at their surroundings which Daphne had not commented on. “I know I cannot reverse a soulmate bond. But I thought I might redefine how it works.”

Daphne hummed and looked back down at the open page.

“Something that people do, who need the suppression bond but want more equality, is cast it twice.”

“Twice”

“Yes, well, once for each person. It means both can suppress the bond of the other. Both parties have runes painted onto their body. Usually, there is also the option to dissolve the bond completely. But with soulmates, as you said, that's not possible.”

Harry nodded.

“I don't know a lot about magic, but could I learn to cast these runes? I need to do it, right?”

“Runes don't need that much magical fluency. But you will need to learn them by heart beforehand. They need to be drawn directly on naked skin in either water or soil with a wand. Water is generally preferred I believe. And well, your husband needs to consent to accept them. How and in what headspace that consent is given, isn't that important to the magic. But he needs to mean it.” Daphne sighed at his conflicted expression.

“I leave this book for you, Harry. The entire ritual is described here. And we can look at what runes you'll need to cast. It might take a bit of calculation to make sure that they are as strong and clean-cut as the ones on your back.”

“Thanks,” Harry said relieved.

“It's no problem. I'm not the best at runes, but Arithmancy is my thing and I love it. He seems pretty smart – your husband. Not everyone can make such foolproof runes.”

Harry’s smile must have looked forced because Daphne pierced him with her eyes again.

“It's okay,” he said quickly. “I will be okay. How is it going with your own marriage situation?”

“Oh that,” she snorted. “It is going well. Or well, not going at all.” She smiled brightly. “I have insulted about half of my suitors and the other half I have convinced of my inability to have children, so they are thoroughly rejected.”

“And you've said nothing to your parents?”

She smiled and stared out of the window at that.

“I told them I wanted to travel to magical Japan after graduation and go to their Academy of Arithmetic Spellcraft. And that I never particularly cared for any man or woman I have come across, romantically or sexually. They seemed accepting of the career path. But they have a problem with the lack of sexual interest. They think that I'll be lonely in the future. And I don't know. Maybe I will be?”

Harry turned to her. She stared down at her hands, twisting the many rings on her fingers.

“I think there might be a difference between being alone and loneliness. And even if you aren't sexually interested – don't you think there might be the possibility of platonic relationships? I always dreamed of moving in with John and Travis, my friends from school, as flatmates. They are the people I know best. Romantic and sexual relationships might be overrated.”

Daphne gifted him with a small smile at that.

“You're right. I shouldn't let their expectations force my path in life. And us witches, we live for a very long time.”

+++

Harry gave himself two more days to finalize his terms. Daphne and he had a grand time designing his runes, and talking every step of the ritual through, although they tried to avoid mentioning the sex, as much as possible. Daphne also told Harry about all the shops in Diagon Alley and the places in the wizarding world he definitely had to visit. Harry sent Zisby to inform Riddle that he would talk to him soon, but needed some space.

The only thing he still required was a wand. Daphne had pointed out that Harry could also use Riddle's since the wand most likely wouldn't even notice that it wasn't wielded by its true master.

And so Harry stood before Tom's room with a long list in his hand, still unsure if this was truly what he wanted to do. Before he could enter, however, Dumbledore appeared next to him out of thin air and stepped closer.

“Harry,” he said and Harry turned to him. He looked a bit like Santa Claus in his magenta robes with the white stars, but his eyes were serious.

“Yes?”

“I know, that you must be very mad at me. I just want to say, that I'm sorry for what I have done. I believed that there was no worse fate than to have Voldemort interested in forming a lifelong bond with you.” Harry crossed his arms.

“But if I’d known magic, I would have been aware that I need to be careful when having sex, as to prevent unintentionally marrying someone. Or I would have known who killed my parents. Or that they didn't die in a car crash.”

“All true, my boy,” Dumbledore said. “But there are things like slavery bonds which do not depend on your consent. I thought if Voldemort would ever be aware of your situation, he wouldn't ask for your permission. Soulmate bonds are tricky because once the magic touches and recognises each other, it is unbreakable. Tom, he did act more humane, than I gave him credit for. Although he still has a long way to go on his moral journey. Maybe it is good that you keep an eye on him. He sometimes needs to be told that something is wrong.”

Harry nodded to the man and stepped through the door, slamming it shut behind him. He was still mad, and Dumbledore had left an awful first impression.

“Harry,” Riddle said. He had already gotten up from the bed and came to a halt about two feet from Harry.

“I've come with rules, as I promised. I just want you to know that these are non-negotiable and that all of them are a fundamental part of what I expect from my future life and you can leave or take this deal.”

Riddle nodded once and gestured for Harry to come farther into the room. His posture was tightly wired and Harry could see how badly Riddle wanted to smash something. But he remained calm, and just gestured for Harry to continue. _State your terms_ , his eyes said.

Well, then Harry would.

“So I want a Vow on your magic for all of them. So...” Harry felt awkward standing there, reading from a parchment. Just demanding things. He was far more used to being denied and then working his way around the rules to get what he wanted. Nothing was ever just handed over.

“So, I want to finish non-magical school. I miss all my friends and while I want to learn magic, I want to end that part of my life on my terms. With the teleporting, a tutor might be able to reach me there or you can come get me. Something…” Harry shut up and looked at Riddle.

“You miss the Muggle world?” he asked. 

“I miss my friends. And they will always be a big part of my life, hopefully. And I want to graduate. I didn't go to school for eleven years, for nothing.”

“Well, then, I hardly have anything to say against that.”

“Secondly, I want you to swear that you will only kill people if your life is in danger.” He’d wanted to ask Riddle how many people he had murdered. It was even on his questioning paper during the Veritaserum session. But then he’d chickened out. It was easier to pretend that the first time with that girl in the 40s was an accident and that there was nothing ever since. Harry didn’t feel very brave, but he pushed those feelings to the back of his mind. He would just prevent all murders in the future.

Riddle’s face was utterly blank as he looked at Harry. Then he sighed and waved his hand. 

“That’s fair,” he said. “I would never consider such _drastic measures_ under different circumstances.”

Harry just raised an eyebrow unconvinced, but Riddle flashed him a smile - the first one in a while - and well, as long as the vow worked. Harry preferred when Riddle played innocent. It didn't compromise his morals.

“Before you go on, Harry,” Riddle said. “I felt I had no option to tell you about this earlier because you were so mad. But you have a godfather. I met him the day Dumbledore kidnapped you, and he asked to meet you.” Harry dropped his list and had to bend over to retrieve it from the floor. 

“A godfather?”

“Yes, he spent most of your life in prison. Innocent. When Voldemort killed your parents they were under an enchantment. A Fidelius Charm and he was Secret Keeper.”

“I heard of that. So he is responsible?” Harry’s heart sank again.

“Well, the thing is, he and another of your parents' friends changed positions. Since everyone knew it was Sirius, he was in great danger to be caught and tortured. Should that happen he would have nothing to tell if he wasn't the secret keeper. The other friend was supposedly the one to sell him out. There is a trial for him at the moment. You are welcome to wait until the Wizengamot determines whether he is innocent or guilty. But I believe him. Mostly because I know from Voldemort’s memories that it really was the other guy.”

Harry nodded in trance. 

“So we do these two vows and you are willing to come home?”

Harry was about to nod, when he blinked down at his list and shook his head.

“Good try, but there is more!” Riddle sighed but sat back down on the bed. 

“Please,” he said.

“Well, thirdly I want that both of the elves have two days a week and the nights off. I want them to receive some money they can use for themselves and that they receive six weeks of holiday a year.” Riddle raised his eyebrows but then just waved it away.

“Fine,” he said. “I will have to get a new elf soon anyway. Frank isn’t really in the condition to handle the garden alone any longer.”

Harry exhaled. Now came the important bit.

“Lastly, I want a more equal bond,” Harry said. “Daphne and I worked out which Runes I have to paint on you and what to say when - you know - we do it, the next time.”

Riddle stared down at his hands. It was quiet for so long, that Harry thought he might not have heard. Then Riddle chuckled quietly to himself. It sounded slightly insane, and Harry took a step back when Riddle looked back up.

“If I agree with your fourth term, I want a vow from you in return. I want you to agree to have sex with me at least once a month unless you are physically incapable at the time. Because — while you are wonderful company —It won’t do me much good when I go insane.”

Harry just sat back. He couldn't say he hadn’t expected this. And he knew, if only for the purpose of the bond, he would have to sleep with Riddle again. Harry had not allowed himself to examine his emotions regarding that. There was fear, and repulsion, and anticipation...maybe even excitement. It was a lot of contradicting feelings.

“Very well,” he finally said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So ... one more chapter left ^^

**Author's Note:**

> I would appreciate constructive criticism ;)


End file.
